


Pathosis, Promise, Putrefy

by mwhite4264



Series: The Blood Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Curses | Blood Malediction (Harry Potter), Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Could Be Canon, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Maledictus (Harry Potter), The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 102,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwhite4264/pseuds/mwhite4264
Summary: "There is a sickness. It permeates and spreads. It is cyclical and all consuming and it's causing us to rot. Rot from the very inside out. And if I can save myself, then I will. All the promises and pacts in the world couldn't keep me here."Full summary inside
Relationships: Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass/Blaise Zabini, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black/Original Character(s), Sirius Black/Original Character(s)
Series: The Blood Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081757
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Summary

Astoria has spent her whole life an ocean away from her family and her true home, hiding a terrible secret; now, she is reunited with the family she always wanted to have and is thrust into a dangerous world that she must learn to navigate lest she risk losing the family she has only just found.

Draco can tell something big is coming, and while his father and his father’s friends might not consider him worthy enough to share their secrets with, Draco is confident that good things are headed his way.

Pansy is desperately trying to make up for her older brother who left their family in shame and disgrace.

Daphne has to keep her sister out of trouble, or she’ll lose the one person in her family who she would do absolutely anything for.

Bellatrix is carrying the family legacy on her shoulders and while it’s a heavy weight to bear, she is confident that she can do everything expected of her, and then some.

Andromeda doesn’t want to break the pact she made with her sisters, but as she is forced to choose between her heart and her family, she finds herself taking greater and greater risks to keep her double life hidden.

Narcissa loves her sisters with all her heart and is confident nothing can break them apart; Andromeda and Bellatrix may not be getting along, but she will be the glue that keeps her family together.

Sirius finds himself cracking under the pressure of his family name, and he views Hogwarts as the thing he has been searching for his whole life: a way out.

Regulus can’t help that his brother is a disappointment, and he can’t understand why Sirius refuses to talk to him anymore; all he knows, is that if being the perfect son will stop his mother from drinking herself half to death, that is what he will do.

Severus has spent his whole life as a downtrodden, unwanted individual and he will do whatever he can to keep the one person in his life who doesn’t see him that way.


	2. Part One: Pathosis

Part One: Pathosis 


	3. May 12th 1981: A Most Unwelcome Transformation

Aspasia Greengrass was standing in the nursery, rocking a small bundle back and forth. She wished she could be outside. She needed fresh air, the sun on her face, and the wind stirring her hair. She did not want to be cooped up any longer in this stuffy, boring room. It was nothing like Daphne’s nursery, which had been a beautiful dainty pink, with gorgeous white roses painted on the wall, the crib, the dresser, and even the windowsill. It had been perfection, just like her beautiful little girl.

Daphne Aspasia Greengrass was everything a young pure-blood lady should be. Even though she was only nearing two years old, she was already the perfect little girl. She had silky, straight, hair that looked like spun gold, and the brightest, most enchanting green eyes. Oh, she was just perfect, already the jewel in the crown of the Sacred-Twenty-Eight. She was the most beautiful girl born that year, and likely the most beautiful girl born in the last five years. Oh, yes. Daphne was her pride, her joy, her life, her love.

Now, she stood in a nursery of dark green, with ancient roman warships painted on the walls. It was supposed to be a boy’s nursery. She hadn’t been expecting this little girl, who just wouldn’t stop crying. She cried and cried, and no matter how much Aspasia rocked her, or cooed, the baby just wouldn’t calm down.

“Sh. Sh, little one. It’s alright.” Aspasia muttered, unenthusiastically. She should call in the house-elf. The house-elf could take care of it. She didn’t want it. _She didn’t want it!_

Aspasia took deep breaths, calming herself. Hyperion mustn’t hear her crying. She bit her lip hard, drawing blood. The taste of iron coated her tongue and she looked out the window. After a few moments, she forced herself to look down at the bundle in her arms. This little thing looked nothing like her. It’s hair was dark, and thick, and it’s eyes were a pretty dark brown. It was a rather plain-looking thing, not nearly as pretty as Daphne, but it will do. If she rocked it enough, she might feel less empty inside.

All of a sudden, the baby in her arms shifted, twisting in on itself, arching it’s little back. Aspasia grimaced and her grimace soon turned into a scream. She dropped the bundle, where it landed on the soft, plush carpet. Aspasia screamed and screamed. Hyperion came rushing in, looking wildly from left to right. Aspasia pointed down at the ground.

There was no baby. Only a hawk. A wretched, ugly bird. Aspasia screamed and screamed. “Take it away! Take it away!” Hyperion stared in horror at the writhing mass on the ground, now once again a small, baby girl, kicking and screaming. Then, again, the baby shifted, twisting itself into a bird. Hyperion took out his wand, perhaps to kill it. But, he knew. He knew well enough what the thing was before him. He had been tricked.


	4. Astoria (1983-1993): Home or Hospital

Her earliest memory was of bright, white, hospital rooms, and nurses who coo at and coddle her, waving toys in front of her face. She guessed that she is two, perhaps three, in this memory. She is surrounded by clipped tones, and harsh accents, that for some reason sound different to her ears, foreign though not unkind. She could feel, simple though her thoughts were at this stage in her life, that she missed something, though she knows not what.

Later in life, at the age children start to notice things, she began to see other children, surrounded by families, people who weren’t nurses or healers, people who weren’t hospital staff. She remembered asking Healer Johnson who they were, and he had said “That’s their family Astoria.” She had asked him where hers was, a childish, curious statement, and she remembered peeking around the corner, as if they would suddenly show up, bearing gifts, warm smiles, and hugs. They did not.

Healer Johnson had at first, evaded her questions, but eventually there was no getting around it. It was easy to distract a toddler from an ugly truth, but children are often far more intuitive than they are given credit for, and it wasn’t long before Astoria refused to stand by in complacent ignorance.

“Your family brought you here. They are waiting for you to get better.” He had said, finally. Astoria frowned. Healer Johnson did not believe in lying to children, all though he did sometimes believe in omitting the truth or delaying candid conversation.

“What? I’m not sick. I just though t…” Astoria trailed off. What had she thought? That Healer Johnson was her father? Well, yes, admittedly. That the hospital was her home? It was her first and current memory, her beginning, her past, and her present. But a family? That was new information. She had been _brought_ here. She had, perhaps at one time, had a different residence, though she could not contrive in her thoughts where or when that had been.

Those had been the good days. She had not known she was sick, or the word that would soon be used more often ,“cursed.” She knew what she could do, she knew that she could change her shape. But wasn’t that a good thing? Wasn’t that magical and special? She had to be the youngest Animagus anyone had ever heard of. She hadn’t known that the very thing pumping through her veins was killing her. She hadn’t known it was shameful, dirty, and low.

Part of her loved Healer Johnson for shielding her. Children with a curse like hers had their childhood ripped out from under them in the blink of an eye. At least, for a short time, she hadn’t known the horrific fate that was to befall her, in the end.

Part of her was angry at Healer Johnson, the man she had known all her life, the man who paid special attention to her out of all the children in the ward. The man who spent every Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and Halloween with her. The man who always got her something for her birthday, who sat with her and taught her to read and taught her to do math. Part of her was angry that he was not her family, and that he had hidden this from her. She should have known. Her last name didn’t match his. That’s how you know when someone’s your family. You share a name.

She supposed she should have guessed that the multitude of presents that always arrived on her birthday or Christmas, were not from Healer Johnson. There was a collection of clothes, shiny, expensive toys, and books, though Healer Johnson always took those. That is what Astoria is most grateful to Healer Johnson for. Taking the books. Had she read them, had she been so indoctrinated like the sister she didn’t know she had, or the people she would one day call her friends, or the one she would one day love most of all, she may not have been able to help them. She may have lost herself in between the pages and pages and pages of lies, and hate. She may herself have caught the sickness.

“The thing about hate, Astoria, is that the hater is a victim as is the hated. It is a poison, a cycle, like a disease, a pathosis, if you will. It infects and destroys the heart. It consumes, devourers, demolishes. It’s best to avoid hate, if you can. Even righteous hate will become deadly in its own rite.” Healer Johnson had said, as he bore the books away, frowning with distaste. Astoria used to hang onto every word Healer Johnson said, eating up the only parental-like affection she was given in her white, sterile world.

“Why won’t my family come to see me?” she had asked, at six years old, even though, deep in her heart she knew the answer.

“See, the thing is Astoria, your family loves you very much. I’m sure of it. It’s just, well, they feel like they have to hide you. Their friends, well. Let’s just say that where you’re from, Britain, see. They don’t take kindly to people like you. There are people, people who your parents are quite close with, that would shame you and your parents, if they knew.” Healer Johnson had stuttered through his speech. He could be eloquent, on occasion. Just not when delivering what he perceived to be bad news. “Blood is a big deal where you come from, Astoria. They wouldn’t appreciate cursed blood.”

She didn’t know why Healer Johnson was so upset. The solution was simple, and she told him so, simply and confidently, “I will never change! Ever again! I won’t! That way, no one ever has to know.” She hadn’t known what would happen if she didn’t transform, at least every so often. She would grow thinner and thinner, waste away. She would grow weaker and everything would hurt. She remembered trying to hold out. And she did, for eight long months. Healer Johnson had begged her everyday to change, begged and begged. It was only when he told her, that should she resist the curse’s gift, should she not use her ability, she would die even sooner than she was already destined, that she relented.

Finally, one day, on a cold January morning, as Astoria sat on her bed, reading a thick book, a girl burst in, squealing, before throwing herself on top of her, her arms clamping down uncomfortably around Astoria. 

“Hello! I’m so excited to finally see you! Don’t you remember me? Of course you do! I can’t believe I convinced them! They asked what I wanted for my birthday and I said to see you! They said no, at first. But I kicked and screamed and cried until they said yes! I can convince father to do anything, you know!” The girl prattled on in a high, squealing voice. Astoria blinked slowly. Healer Johnson watched the scene apprehensively.

“Well, aren’t you going to say hello back? It’s polite! Didn’t you learn that from your etiquette classes?” the girl demanded, frowning. Astoria had never taken any etiquette classes.

“Hello.” Astoria said, quietly. This girl looked like she should be in a painting. She had beautiful, shiny golden hair and bright, brilliant green eyes, that sparkled like the jade beads a nurse had gotten her on her vacation to China. The girl’s expression changed. She looked at once a mixture of sadness, indignation, and anger.

“You do remember me, don’t you?” Astoria had shook her head in wonder. She never had any visitors.

“I’m your sister! Don’t you remember? Daphne? Surely you do!” Daphne exclaimed, clearly exasperated that she was not receiving the tearful reunion that she had no doubt imagined. Astoria did not remember. She did not know who this strange, beautiful girl was, but she was so excited to learn she had a sister, she didn’t want to mention her lack of memory. 

“Of course! I do! I just had not seen you in so long!” Astoria lied, gripping the girl back, with a ferocity of her own. This seemed to appease Daphne because she gave another gleeful shriek.

“Oh, you do not know how long I have waited for this. I have asked to see you nearly everyday since you left. That has to be like, a thousand days!” Astoria couldn’t help but grin. Someone had wanted to see her this badly? She had never before experienced this sort of affection from someone _she belonged to._

“You aren’t a squib, are you? Can you do magic?” Daphne suddenly blurted. Astoria did not miss the way that Daphne’s grip slackened, and an expression of nervous distaste crossed her features. Astoria could do magic, but she had only shown her abilities months ago, right at the seven-year mark. Any longer, and she would have been a squib for sure. She had been terrified she would not be magical like Healer Johnson was. But, she had been. She may have scraped through by the skin of her teeth, but she was a witch. 

“Yes, I am.” Astoria said, glad that her sister’s arms once again tightened around her.

“Oh goody! That healer wrote us to tell us your magic finally showed. That’s why we haven’t seen you. It isn’t customary.” Customary? What an odd word to use. Customary for who?

There was a slight cough at the doorway. A man stood beside Healer Johnson. He was stout, and had shiny golden hair, similar to Daphne’s. He was balding slightly, however, and he had a bit of a gut. He was wearing an expensive set of robes, some of the most expensive Astoria had ever seen.

“That’s father.” Daphne announced, proudly. Astoria could hardly believe her eyes. The day she had been dreaming of, was finally here. She wanted to shout for all the other children in the ward to look. Her family was here now, too. She had jumped up, running toward him, hurtling herself straight into his arms. She had asked where her mother was, but both Daphne and her father dodged the question.

They talked for hours, and Astoria couldn’t remember such a wonderful day in all her life. However, they got up to leave, and talked about seeing her again sometime soon. “Soon?” Astoria asked, her voice small. Somehow, she had thought this would be it. She would go home. Her father looked uncomfortable.

“Well now. See here Astoria. You need to stay here. Your treatment is here. Everyone knows that Rappaport Memorial Hospital is the best place for, _for people like you_. When your cured, then we will see? Yes?” He had given her one last hug, and Daphne had sworn to write, before they were gone, sweeping out the door in all their finery.

This was the first time Astoria’s family made her cry. It would certainly not be the last, but it was then, as Healer Johnson awkwardly tried to comfort her, that her tiny heart broke into a million little pieces.

Her father and sister visited her four times a year, and as promised Daphne wrote her at least once a week. Daphne had a beautiful barn owl, that was in Astoria’s opinion, absolutely splendid, and the only bird she had ever liked. It always waited patiently for her to finish reading Daphne’s letter and for her to write a response.

Nearly three years later, Daphne began to write of Hogwarts. It sounded to Astoria, the most magical place she could ever have imagined. She knew that the U.S had a wizarding school, but it was for American students, and as she was reminded by the other children in the hospital constantly, she wasn’t an American. She was British. She was a British citizen and an American guest. She may sound like them, she may dress like them, but she wasn’t one of them. That was how it was for Astoria. Not permitted to live at home, and not permitted to have a home where she lived.

Daphne was a little over two years older than her and wrote Astoria nearly every week about what was happening at Hogwarts. She wrote of all the friends she had made, the different houses and all her classes. She wrote about Quidditch and a troll that had gotten into the castle on Halloween Night! But, the most exciting things about these letter for Astoria, were the statements such as “When you’re here next year, I’ll show you all around Slytherin House” or “Wait until you are here next year! I’ll introduce you to my friends. Pansy will absolutely love you and so will Blaise.” The implication was clear, Astoria would be going to Hogwarts.

When she had approached her father, who had visited alone this time, as Daphne was in school, and asked if she would be going to Hogwarts, he had given her another one of his big, friendly smiles. “Yes, my dear! Of course! Greengrass’s have been going to Hogwarts for hundreds of years! You will love it there, I know it.”

Astoria had gleefully relayed the new to Healer Johnson, who didn’t look pleased. He looked excited for her but frowned a little. He had a sad look in his eye. It seemed Healer Johnson knew what Astoria had not already discovered. Her father was a man of false promises.

Astoria remembered the days and days of waiting in agony for her Hogwarts Letter. It never came. Astoria knew she was magical. Just last week she had made a flower grow in a pot of dirt just by looking at it! She couldn’t imagine why this horrible injustice had occurred. Astoria had crawled into Healer Johnson’s arms, crying later that August, when the terrible truth had been realized. She wasn’t going to get a letter.

“Your father wrote to me today, Astoria. Your mother and him discussed it, and contacted Hogwarts’s Deputy Headmistress. I forget her name. Er, look. Well, the point is that. Um. They told her not to bother sending you a letter, as you would be educated here, where you could be closer to the Hospital.” Astoria sobbed harder at the unfairness of it all. “Oh, look Astoria. It has nothing to do with you! Your parents have expressed their desire for you to be educated elsewhere. They aren’t the only family to do it, I promise.” Healer Johnson tried.

It was no use. For days, Astoria was inconsolable. Worse still, was the news that since Astoria was British, she would have to _apply_ to go to Ilvermorny, as they weren’t taking exchange students this close to the start of term. She would start school _a whole year later_ than she was supposed to.

Despite Healer Johnson’s constant assurance, Astoria knew the truth. It was her fault. Or rather, it was the curse. Were she not such a beast, she would be allowed to go to school with her sister. Astoria didn’t understand. If they would only call her home, she would do anything they asked of her. _Anything._

Thus, began the worst year of Astoria’s life so far. When her father and sister visited, she barely spoke to them, still too hurt to even look in their direction. Astoria was not a jealous creature. It simply wasn’t in her nature. But, she couldn’t help the overwhelming sadness that washed over her when Daphne would talk of school. Her mother still never visited. 

When Astoria and Healer Johnson were filling out the application for exchange students, Astoria learned yet another insult her family had thrown her way. Her family did not want her to bear their name publicly. She was to tell only the Headmaster her real name, and to every teacher and student, she would be known by another name. So fearful were they, that someone find out about her curse, they were terrified for her to carry the Greengrass name.

“But why? I can’t see the school allowing something like that!” Astoria had exclaimed indignantly.

“This is the U.S, Astoria. Anything is allowed as long as you have enough coin. And, your family does.”

This failed to assuage Astoria’s hurt and indignation at being swept under the rug as if she were some shameful, horrible blight. Of course, she supposed she was. She had long stopped thinking of the changing as a gift, and rather a perversion or distortion of herself. It was quite horrifying when she thought about it, her limbs twisting and pulling until she was something else entirely.

“What name am I supposed to tell them? I like my name! Astoria Calliope Greengrass. That’s who I am! How can I just _be_ someone else?” Astoria ranted. Healer Johnson sighed, and wrapped an arm around her, somewhat awkwardly, in an attempt to comfort her.

“Well, actually. See the thing is. The thing about that is. Well, I had sort of been thinking. And as I was thinking, I came across an idea. Your middle name is Calliope, which is quite pretty, and if you just went by Callie, it would really be like a nickname, you know? Nothing more. I have a nickname! My name is David and everyone calls me Davey! So see? Not bad.” Healer Johnson rambled, and as always, horrified that he had been given charge of an upset child. He loved children and loathed when one was upset. A bit of an awkward person, Astoria knew he wasn’t adept in the area of comforting children.

Astoria sniffled. No. It was not so bad. She had been hoping for Tori, but she supposed that was a bit too obvious. Callie was pretty. She quite liked it. Healer Johnson continued, and said the thing that would endear him to her forever. “And Astoria. I was thinking, that since I am your guardian here, if you wanted to that is, and do not feel any pressure, in case there was something else you were thinking of. But, I was wondering if you wanted my last name. I would be, er, honored for you to have it. That is. If you wanted it. If not—” Whatever awkward rambling he had been going to say was cut off by Astoria throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. He was proud of her. He knew she was cursed, knew she could expose herself, and did not care. He wanted her to carry his name. She was wanted. And suddenly, that made everything all right.

And so, when she wrote Callie Johnson as her preferred name on the application, she didn’t feel morose that she was giving up the one thing she had become so proud of as of late, her true name. She felt excited and accepted as she had never felt before.

The rest of the year meant more letters from Daphne. Apparently, this time, some ancient monster was loose in the school. So there! She didn’t want to go to a school who had monsters roaming the halls anyway! At least, that is what she told herself.

Healer Johnson spent a tremendous amount of effort getting Astoria excited about Ilvermorny. “You’ve been approved for attendance! Isn’t that exciting!” “There are four houses, just like Hogwarts, so you won’t miss out on that experience.” “There isn’t Quidditch, but there is Quodpot, and the balls explode! Much more exciting in my opinion.”

And because Astoria was eleven, and because she was always one to accept her fate whole-heartedly, and without complaint, it worked. She hardly thought about her family, and she hardly thought about Hogwarts. She was going to learn magic. And, when she was the best witch in the whole world, her family would regret sending her away. They would be sorry! And they would write to her, and ask her to move in with them, and she would accept. She and Daphne could go shopping in Diagon Alley, just as Daphne had promised they would, and everything would be alright.

Astoria would get her wish. Two and a half years later, when she was fourteen, she would get her deepest desire. She would go home to her family and she would meet her sister’s friends. She would attend Hogwarts and she would sit in the Slytherin Common Room. Of course, it would not be the magical, welcoming experience she always imagined. She would be thrust into a world she did not understand, a world Healer Johnson had so desperately tried to protect her from. She would be thrust into a war. She would no longer have to go by Callie Johnson. She would be Astoria Greengrass.


	5. Draco (Summer 1995): Drawing Room Whispers

There were whispers coming from the drawing room. There were whispers coming from the study. There were whispers coming from the dining room, after his mother bid him to go to bed. Draco wanted to know what all the whispering was about.

His father’s friends would arrive, nearly every day, and talk, filling the house with important sounding whispers, laughing at Draco when he tried to talk to them, to investigate.

Anytime he crept close enough to hear, his mother was always waiting, always telling him to go upstairs, to go outside and ride his broom, to come with her to the parlor for tea, or worse, go to the library and work on his summer homework.

Draco tried to sneak around his mother, but it did not work. Every plan, every thought, she seemed to already know. Draco suspected it had something to do with all the rumors Potter had started, with his announcement the Dark Lord was back. It hurt, that Draco’s own father would not tell him whether the rumors were true or not.

Draco worked up the courage to ask his father, point blank. Is the Dark Lord back? Yes or no. No more whispering, no more hiding. If he is back, Draco ought to be told. He could handle it. His father may not trust him with anything, and his father may have barely spoken two words to him in the past few months, but Draco would find out the truth.

One night, after so many nights of waiting, Draco’s father was alone in his study. Draco had been standing at the door for five minutes, working up the courage to knock on the door. He raised his fist and knocked on the door. Silence. Draco was about to knock again when his father called him in.

“Come in, Draco.” Draco’s heart leapt, despite himself. His father was going to talk to him. His father almost never did so, and Draco couldn’t help but feel his heart race at the prospect. Draco opened the door and stepped into the room.

A large ebony desk sat in the center of the room, behind which, his father sat in a dragon-leather, wing-tipped chair, that reminded Draco of a throne. Draco thought his father looked impressive and intimidating. Draco swallowed nervously, steeling himself.

“I was wondering when you were going to knock. You were standing out there for nearly five-minutes.” his father remarked, cold, slightly amused. Draco felt his face flush with embarrassment. He had not even spoken yet, and already he appeared to be a fool before the man he wanted to impress most in the world.

“Sorry, father.” Draco said, trying, and failing, to keep his voice even. His father raised his eyebrows, giving him the barest nod of acknowledgement.

“I have a feeling I know what you are here for, Draco.” His father smiled at him, a small secretive smile, a real smile. Draco could count on one hand the times he remembered seeing it. He latched onto it, like a lifeline, clutching it, trying to commit it to memory, before it would inevitably disappeared right before his eyes to be replaced by cold indifference. “But, go ahead. Ask me anyway.” His father leaned back in his chair, his hand resting on the head of his silver-tipped cane. Draco tried not to look at it.

“Is it true? Is he back?” Draco asked, leaning forward eagerly. His father’s smile stayed, much to Draco’s relief.

“You are old enough for a drink, Draco. Don’t tell your mother.” is all his father said, as he stood, walking to the liquor cabinet in the corner. He took out a bottle of whiskey, and two shot glasses. He poured the rich amber liquid into the two opulent, crystal glasses, and handed one to Draco. Draco took it, giving it a reverent look. This was not how he had expected this conversation to go, and he is beyond excited that his expectations have been exceeded. Draco’s father walked back to his chair, and took a seat, before holding the shot glass up.

“I propose a toast. To changing times, better futures, and the Malfoy name in it’s soon to be successful rise to power.” Draco watched the moonlight glint off the glass, as his father gave him one more, sly smile, fit for the darkest of conspiracies. “I propose a toast to rumors, _rumors that are true_.” Draco felt a thrill go through him, although he was far too caught up in the pleasure of sharing a drink with his father for the first time to much notice what his father had said. It was only when he lay in bed that night, his head feeling light, that he realized. He’s back.


	6. Bellatrix (Summer of 1962): A Pact

A large manor house, nestled behind a hill in the English countryside, was where Cygnus and Druella, with there three daughters resided. The Black sisters did not live in the ancestral home of Grimmauld Place, but their father preferred it that way. “Nasty muggles, every which way you turn. It is better girls, out here in the country. A wizard can breathe fresh, clean, air without it being polluted with the stink of muggle filth.” their father would tell them.

Bellatrix was leaving for Hogwarts in just two months, and it was nearly all the house could talk about. Narcissa was inconsolable in the weeks leading up to Bellatrix’s departure. “You can’t leave, Bella! You just can’t!” she wailed repeatedly. Bellatrix sniffed indignantly. If she had threw a fit like that when she was young, she would have been beat into next Thursday. Someone would need to toughen Narcissa up. She would never survive if she kept carrying on like this over something so small and insignificant.

Of course, a part of her was gratified. It felt good knowing she would be missed. Bellatrix did not have any weaknesses, but if she did, _and she didn’t,_ it would be her sister. Narcissa clung to both Bellatrix and Andromeda incessantly, and while they both feigned annoyance, Bellatrix knew they secretly enjoyed it. Narcissa was a delicate creature, and she never quite fit in with the other Blacks. She didn’t even look like them, with her shiny, ash-blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes. 

Andromeda was less sad to see her go, but she did say to Bellatrix, as they lay in the orchard, using the trees and the shade as respite from the summer heat, "I’ll miss you. When you’re gone.” Bellatrix didn’t respond, and only gave her sister a hard look. She better not let mother or father hear her talking like that. Andromeda stared at her resolutely. She was always so stubborn. Perhaps that’s why she and Andromeda fought so much. “I love you, Bella.” Bellatrix froze and she felt her throat go dry. She nervously checked for mother or father, but they were not around.

“You ought not to talk like that Andromeda. What they let Narcissa get away with, well. We won’t be given the same luxury.” Andromeda only sighed and nodded. It wasn’t long before Narcissa figured out that while she had been playing dress-up in the mirror, her sisters had gone to the orchard outside. She was now calling for them, tears streaming down her face, as she frantically searched the trees for them. Bellatrix thought to hide, drag out the feeling of being wanted so, a little longer, but Andromeda spoiled it, calling “Here, Cissy!”, revealing herself.

Later, a few weeks before her departure on the Hogwarts’s Express, Bellatrix was called to her father’s study. She went, trying desperately to quell the tremors that raced through her. She should be used to this by now, and if father saw she was afraid, there would be hell to pay. She knocked on the door, a strong sound, refusing to be afraid.

Her father called for her to enter and so she opened the door, having to push rather hard to get the heavy oak door to open. “Sit.” he commanded, gesturing to an armchair across from his desk. “I want to discuss the expectations we have of you while you are at school.” Her father’s voice was cold, hard, but not angry, and so Bellatrix relaxed and lowered herself into the chair.

“First, you will be sorted into Slytherin. There will be no exceptions. That is the rule, and you will follow it. Traditions are kept for a reason, Bellatrix.” Bellatrix gave a curt nod.

“Yes, father.”

“Second, you will receive top marks. We do not except perfection, but we do except close. You are a witch. You will be good at magic. You will not let those who have never even heard of a wand until five minutes before their arses were dumped on the train, beat you. Understand?” Her father gave her a menacing glare. Bellatrix responded with a single nod.

“Yes, father.”

“Third, you will make the right friends, the right connections. I do not want to hear a word about mudbloods, blood-traitors, or even so much as a half-blood near you. Do you understand? Dippet may let filth walk the halls of that school, but I will not have my daughters turned into mudwallowers! _Do you understand?!”_ Her father was shouting then, and Bellatrix nodded emphatically.

“Yes, father.” she replied, earnestly this time. She would not fail. She would be perfect. She had to be.

Her father looked at her. “I always wanted a son, Bellatrix. I do not have one. You will be my son.” Bellatrix swallowed nervously. Her father always made her uncomfortable when he talked like this.

“Of course, father.” she said. Her father smiled, though it was cold, devoid of any and all emotion.

“You are the hope of this family, Bellatrix. Andromeda, she is too willful. Narcissa, she is too weak. But, you? It all depends on you. Do. Not. Fail.”

“Yes, father.”

The night before Bellatrix was to leave, the sisters crowded in Bellatrix’s room, all laying in her bed, something they had not done since they were very small. Narcissa lay in between Bellatrix and Andromeda, and she would not sleep, her tears keeping her awake.

“Would you be quiet, Narcissa? Father might hear. He hates when you cry.” Bellatrix scolded. This only made Andromeda glare at her and Narcissa cry harder.

“It’s alright, Narcissa. Bellatrix isn’t leaving forever! Just going to school. She’ll be fine!” Andromeda tried. Narcissa was not to be consoled.

“But what about us? She is leaving us! She will forget all about us at school.” Narcissa wailed.

“Stop that! I said I would write! Merlin, if you don’t’ shut it—”

“Bella! She’s delicate. You know that.” Andromeda cut her off, glaring at Bellatrix over Narcissa’s sobbing form.

Narcissa eventually calmed down, though it took more threats from Bellatrix and soothing from Andromeda. However, Narcissa was not to sleep.

“I have an idea!” Narcissa sat up, grinning at both of them excitedly. Bellatrix moaned. At this rate, she would be so tired tomorrow, the sorting hat would stick her in Hufflepuff.

“What?” asked Andromeda, patiently.

“Let’s make a blood oath! I read about it, yesterday.”

“Narcissa! That’s vile.” Andromeda said.

“What do you want us to swear, anyway?” Bellatrix asked.

“That we will stay sisters no matter what! That we will always put each other first.” Narcissa insisted, frantically looking at both of them. Andromeda and Bellatrix looked at each other.

“Okay.” Bellatrix said, surprising both her and Andromeda. Perhaps she was a little more afraid of leaving tomorrow than she thought.

Andromeda was the last to agree. She was staring at the ceiling. Finally, with a hard swallow, she said, “Okay.” Narcissa leapt up and crept to the wardrobe, digging under a black ball gown, before pulling out Bellatrix’s silver dagger, the one she had gotten for her eleventh birthday.

“How did you know where that was?” Bellatrix asked, scowling. She thought she had hidden it well. Narcissa only shrugged.

The sisters sat in a circle on top of Bellatrix’s bed. “We each have to cut our hand, and then we will hold hands in the circle and repeat the oath.” Narcissa whispered, the words sounding odd coming from a girl of only seven. Narcissa took the silver dagger and dragged it across her palm, a small, neat line appearing, filling with crimson. She handed the dagger to Bellatrix, who did the same, marveling at the thin red line on her palm, as she watched the cut become blurry and distorted. Andromeda took the dagger from Bellatrix, and hesitated. She seemed to steel herself, before she dragged her palm across the dagger, going far deeper than Bellatrix or Narcissa had.

“Oh.” Andromeda gasped, hissing in pain.

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Oh no! Are you okay?”

Andromeda clenched her jaw. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with, please?” Narcissa gave Andromeda a worried look, but took Andromeda's hand in her own, and reached for Bellatrix's. There they sat in a circle, careful not to drip blood onto the sheets, bloody palms pressed together. 

Narcissa surveyed the scene, and gave them each a solemn nod. “Repeat after me.” Bellatrix and Andromeda did, saying the words:

“I swear on the Black blood that flows through my veins, that I will cherish the bond I share with my sisters above all else, and I promise to let nothing come between us and the pact we have made tonight.”

That night, when they had tied ripped up pieces of cloth around their bleeding palms, and they lay, curled up together, Bellatrix felt at peace. Whatever came tomorrow, she would be ready. She fell asleep, quickly, the wallpaper the last thing she saw before her eyes slipped closed. Had she turned her head, she would have seen Narcissa sleeping soundly, and she would have seen Andromeda, staring at the ceiling, clutching her palm, her eyes wide and her cheeks streamed with tears. Perhaps, even then, Andromeda knew she was a dirty, rotten liar.


	7. Narcissa (November 1962): And Then There Were Two

Bellatrix had left and Narcissa missed her terribly. It was so very awful, and even though she sat through tea with her mother, and even though Andromeda read with her in the library, it did nothing to distract her from Bellatrix’s absence.

Bellatrix wrote her twice a week, just as she promised, but it did little to stem the hurt she felt. She tried not to cry where her father could see her. She knew she would never get a punishment as harsh as Bellatrix or Andromeda, but she hated when anyone is displeased with her.

However, as time drew on, and autumn turned colder, Narcissa found that it was not so incredibly hard to bear. She did all the same things she did before Bellatrix left. She attended ballroom dancing classes and etiquette classes with her mother and Andromeda, and she and Andromeda studied the family tree, the old wizards, and the Praecepta Purissimum, the great book that held all the laws and rules for people of “their kind.”

Andromeda was always quiet during these lessons, and now that Bellatrix was not here to speak for them, Narcissa felt compelled to answer all the questions. Andromeda sat in quiet, bored silence, staring resolutely at the wall in front of her, as though she was simply waiting for a storm to pass. Narcissa supposed that was all right, although, she wished Andromeda would participate. Narcissa thought these lessons were boring too, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t answer her father’s questions.

“What is a blood-traitor, girls?” her father asked. Narcissa watched Andromeda pick up a piece of her brown hair, and twirl it beneath her fingers, staring straight ahead, eyes glazed, as if she were barely paying attention. Narcissa sighed. It seemed that she would have to answer. Not for the first time, Narcissa worried that perhaps Andromeda was just not very smart. This was sad, but nothing could be done for her, except for Narcissa to distract her father from the fact that Andromeda was too stupid to know the answers. What Andromeda would do when she went off to school, Narcissa had no idea.

“Someone who likes mudbloods.” Narcissa offered, simply. Father smiled at her, the way one might smile at a kitten or a cute puppy that had just done their first trick.

“Yes. Very good. But girls. It runs deeper than that. It is a betrayal like no other. It is to forsake your family, and the knowledge they have taught you. It is to forsake all wizard kind, for those less-than you.” Narcissa eyed Andromeda who stared straight ahead, face impassive. Andromeda’s hand was clenched, the one with the faint scar from their oath. Narcissa remembered that Andromeda’s scar had gotten a nasty infection. The house-elf had to heal it.

“To actively support something, to choose a way that endangers the very people who raised you, fed you, clothed you, the very reason you exist at all! To make the conscious choice to betray your family, betray the customs and traditions that hold us all together? There is no greater sin.”

Father reaches for the Praecepta Purissimum. It is a thick, leather-bound black book, with shiny, gold lettering. He sets it on the table, and it makes a loud noise, and the papers on the table jump. He flips through page after page of old-yellowed parchment, before he lands on the passage he is looking for. “Here it is. Will you read this? Andromeda?” Father slid the book across the smooth, dark-wood table, in front of Andromeda.

Now, that she is addressed directly, Andromeda is forced to focus her gaze on the page in front of her, the words that their father’s finger hovers over. She clears her throat, and in a shaking voice, she reads:

“For if there is a blood-traitor among you, cast them aside, forsake them as they have forsaken you. They will poison your family; they will putrefy your bloodline. They have abandoned what is good and pure for what is vile and low. Refuse to utter their name, refuse to look upon them. For there is none more wicked than a blood-traitor.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened in horror and fear. She was young, but she was old enough to understand what that meant. Become a blood-traitor, and loose those who you betrayed, your family. Narcissa stroked the thin, white line across her palm. She didn’t have to worry about that.


	8. Andromeda (December 20th, 1963): The Final Lesson

“Bellatrix is wearing black, and I’m wearing green, so you have to wear silver. If you don’t, you’ll mess it up!” Narcissa argued, shaking a silver dress in Andromeda’s face. Andromeda wondered, for a moment, if she could sink into the ground, letting the old, manor floors swallow her up. Perhaps she would sink until she met the house-elf graves, a fate far preferable to her, then the Malfoys’ Yule Eve Ball.

Every old family has their traditions. The Blacks’ have an assembly on All Hallows Eve, the Greengrass’ have the New Years Eve ball, the Selwyns’ hold a celebration for the Vernal Equinox, and so on. Beltane is shared among the families, and the Blacks’ hosted it just a few summers ago.

Andromeda hated most of these events. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like to dress up, or betting her only friend at these sort of gatherings, Molly Prewett, how much wine they could sneak before they got caught, or even the dancing. It was the constant watchful eye of her father, that made her so unbearably nervous, that at times she thought she might faint.

Andromeda followed every rule to the letter. She wore every dress, attended every party, said all the right things during her father’s lessons, and yet, they still didn’t trust her. It was as if her father could read her mind. It was as if he knew, that secretly, though she tried to shove it down, she didn’t quite believe what her father told her.

Andromeda needed a bit more convincing than her sisters, though she would never say aloud that she questioned her father’s rhetoric. And, perhaps question was the wrong word to use. It was more that she was curious. She had never met a muggle, nor had she met a mudblood, but something about her father’s lessons didn’t make sense. Her father never told her why. Why were the mudbloods bad? Because they come from muggles. Why were the muggles bad? Because they don’t have magic. Why don’t they have magic? Because they are muggles. I mean, what is she to do.

She once told Bellatrix her feelings, and that had been a mistake. Her and Bellatrix always fought, with Narcissa thrusting herself in the middle, begging them not to, and pleading with them not to hurt each other. That fight had been ugly.

“Just you wait! You’ll see! He hasn’t given you the final lesson yet! When he does, you will see!” Bellatrix had screamed, just two days ago. Bella had refused to speak to her since their fight, even resisting Narcissa’s constant badgering to let everything go. Ever since the fight, Andromeda had been dreading the final lesson.

Apparently, Bellatrix had gotten it a few months before she went to Hogwarts. Her mother didn’t contradict their father on much, hardly anything at all. But, she did refuse to let her father teach the girls the dreaded “final lesson” until they were of school-age.

Andromeda would be going to Hogwarts this September, and she knew it was only a matter of time, before her father would call her into the study, and she would get, the ever looming, ominous, final lesson.

Narcissa was still waving the silver fabric in her face. Andromeda snatched it from her sister, giving it a distasteful glare. She would look so incredibly tacky. “I want to wear black. Silver would go better with Bella’s hair, anyway.” Andromeda argued.

“That’s not true. You will look splendid!” Narcissa assured her. The dress was silk, as opposed to the velvet Narcissa and Bellatrix would be wearing. It wasn’t bad. It was just so incredibly cliché. A silver dress? Please. Narcissa sealed the deal, however, when she looked at Andromeda, with big, blue eyes, and exclaimed, “You will look like a star in the night sky!” Well, who was she to argue with that?

Andromeda slipped on the dress and looked in the mirror. It did look tacky. Molly would laugh her off the face of the earth for wearing it. Narcissa sighed softly, looking at Andromeda as if she were Venus herself. “See? Splendid.” Andromeda gave her sister a graceful nod, and when she wasn’t looking, pretended to vomit.

“Stop that. You look so childish.” Bellatrix said, suddenly appearing in the doorway of Andromeda’s room. Andromeda couldn’t decide whether to be angry at the comment, or to be glad that her sister was speaking to her again. Andromeda went for a mixture of the two, and gave her sister a half-hearted scowl, before telling her that she looked nice.

It was true. Bellatrix was thirteen now, and her wild ebony curls, the ones their mother spent a never-ending amount of time trying to tame, had finally settled into neat spirals, forsaking the frizz of their earlier years. Bellatrix always looked older than she really was, and Andromeda thought that in the black velvet dress, her sister could easily pass for fifteen.

“Thank you. You look…” Bellatrix trailed off, as she took in Andromeda’s dress.

“Like a falling star!” said Narcissa from across the room, as she adjusted the bell-sleeves on her dress. Bellatrix laughed.

“Yeah. Let’s go with that.” Andromeda grumbled. She eyed the pretty, midnight-blue silk in the corner of her wardrobe. She could wear it. It was only at the insistence of Narcissa that they were wearing Slytherin colors. Because of Andromeda’s recent birthday, Narcissa was going through a bit of a phase where she was obsessed with Hogwarts, and everything about it. She would talk for hours and hours about that school, and she wasn’t even going for nearly two more years.

“Don’t you dare think about changing!” Narcissa whined. Andromeda closed her eyes and sighed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Andromeda said, shaking her head. Bellatrix caught her eye in the mirror and gave her a wicked smile.

The ball was just as dreadful as Andromeda thought it would be. Bellatrix was at the age where she was expected to dance more than just the three customary dances children were often forced into and she didn’t have much time to keep her company. Narcissa was clingy and refused to leave Andromeda’s side for even a minute, meaning there was no mischief to be had with Molly, who kept throwing her mischievous looks. The only words Molly had been able to say to her were, “Nice dress. You look like a sickle.”

Andromeda’s father was standing nearby, talking in hushed tones with Abraxas Malfoy. Andromeda raised her eyebrows, and looked to her left and right, before leaving Narcissa by a potted plant when she was too busy watching Bellatrix dance to notice her absence. Andromeda crept to stand behind a pillar in the Malfoy’s grand ballroom, trying to hear what her father and Mr. Malfoy were talking about. She was desperate for some sort of entertainment.

“The times we live in, Cygnus, the times we live in.” Abraxas said, shaking his head in disgust. Andromeda sighed. The same old conversation. She was sure they would start complaining about the “death of the old ways” in a mater of seconds.

“Yes, yes. I swear. Nobby Leach in office? A mudblood Minister? Sweet Circe, I never thought I’d see the day. I thought Tuft was bad with his Dementor breeding program, but Leach? That is an insult to the highest order.” Her father complained. Andromeda rolled her eyes. Leach was all anyone could talk about.

“Insult indeed. I won’t stand for it.”

“Well, yes. But what can we do? What can be done?” her father said, sounding resigned.

“I’ll get him out of office, Cygnus. If it’s the last thing I do. I won’t have Lucius growing up under the reign of a mudblood minister. I swear by Circe, I won’t.” Abraxas said, his voice hushed, giving her father a meaningful look. They smiled, a dark, slimy sort of smile, and Andromeda felt her stomach drop. She snuck away, and she couldn’t help but hope that it was nothing but empty threats. It made her uncomfortable when there was talk like that.

“Andromeda!” Narcissa shouted, suddenly, causing Andromeda to nearly fall over from fright.

“What?” Andromeda snapped, rather angrily.

“You left!”

“Well. Get used to it, Cissy. You’ll be all alone next year and the year after, so you can’t come crying to me every five seconds!” Andromeda snapped, tired, and ready to go home. She regretted it immediately, however. Narcissa’s eyes welled with tears, and she ran away, toward the balcony. Andromeda groaned, and leaned against the wall, the sound of violin beginning to give her a headache. She watched as Mrs. Malfoy eyed Narcissa and then pushed Lucius toward the balcony. Lucius scowled, and tried to argue, but walked toward her sister.

“You look miserable.” a voice said, calling Andromeda out from her gloom. A pretty girl stood to her left, giving her a wicked smile.

“Molly.” breathed Andromeda. Andromeda couldn’t say that she and Molly were good friends, as they really only saw each other a couple times a year. Regardless, the pretty, red-haired girl was a welcome reprieve from the dull party.

“The little Malfoy snot is talking to your sister. Saw her crying.” Molly teased, nodding her head towards the balcony. Andromeda turned her head, wrinkling her nose. She saw that Bellatrix was out there with the two and she sighed in relief. The sigh died in her throat when Bellatrix shot her a withering look.

“I think he’s swooping in.”

“She’s nine Molly, He’s ten. No one is old enough for swooping.” Andromeda said, flatly. Molly laughed.

“For now.”

Andromeda groaned, and swatted Molly on the arm. “Quit it.” Molly raised her hands in mock surrender. “He saw her crying. I’m pretty sure I saw his mother make him go out there to check on her. It’s his house. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” This much, at least was true.

“How have you been?” Andromeda asked politely. Molly groaned dramatically, throwing an arm across her face.

“Terrible. My father and uncle are feuding. Again. Which means mother and all my brothers are in an absolute mood. You know how they get.” Andromeda nodded her head sympathetically.

The Prewetts have historically been in Slytherin for centuries and have always been staunch supporters of traditional values. However, unfortunately, Molly’s father was sorted into Gryffindor, which wouldn’t have been that big of a deal to most families, had he not adopted a more liberal philosophy during his years at Hogwarts. It was a miracle he was even still invited to the parties, but then again; Andromeda was pretty sure only her father was mad about Slytherin enough to disown a family member or friend over it. Maybe her Aunt Walburga too.

“I don’t know anything about brothers. But, I can tell you that sisters come with their own problems.” Andromeda said, eyeing the balcony. Lucius Malfoy was now scowling at her sister as he offered her a handkerchief, and glanced at his mother as if to say, _Can I go now?_

“Looks like it.” Molly agreed, eyeing the balcony.

Later that night, when they finally arrived home, Andromeda had apologized to Narcissa, who forgave her in nearly two seconds, and to Bellatrix, who had to spend the rest of her night trying to console Narcissa.

“Andromeda.” her father called. Andromeda looked behind her, startled. The sisters had crowded in Narcissa’s room, and they all stopped talking immediately when they saw their father standing in the doorway. “Will you come to the study?” Andromeda’s palms began to sweat.

“Yes father.” she said, tonelessly, as she followed out the door. As she left, she looked over her shoulder to Bellatrix, who gave her an encouraging smile.

“The final lesson.” Bellatrix mouthed. Andromeda thought she might faint. She climbed down the grand staircase to the second floor of the house and went with her father into his study.

There, on a pedestal, was something Andromeda had seen before. The Black family pensive. Nearly all the old families had a pensive, where they stored their family’s history and memories, as a companion to the numerous written journals they already possessed on the subject. Andromeda sighed in relief. Thank Circe. She had seen several memories in the pensive. There would be no nasty, horrible surprise in store for her.

“I have prepared a memory, Andromeda.” Andromeda gave her father a somber nod. “What you are about to see is horrifying, but it is necessary. You will finally understand why we do not associate with muggles. You will understand why as wizard kind, we hide ourselves away.”

Andromeda stepped forward and stuck her head into the pensive. What she saw was terrible. It was so unbelievably frightening, that Andromeda would remember it for the rest of her life.


	9. Astoria (September 1993)

Healer Johnson 

Rappaport Memorial Hospital lied nestled in a back alleyway in Manhattan, the entrance hidden by a brick wall, covered in graffiti. If one tapped the red squiggle with a wand, and does two soft taps, and three quick taps in fast succession, the bricks will part, almost crumbling away to reveal the entrance.

Besides being the best wizarding hospital in the United States, it is also the best in the world for treating those suffering from blood-borne curses. And, Healer Johnson was not only a specialist in this area, but also something of a wonder when it came to treating children.

When the young boy had come in, cursed to wake ever summer solstice in the dead of night to attempt to drown himself, Healer Johnson had broken the curse. When the young girl came, bearing the curse that the first-born girl every fourth generation would not be able to eat or drink anything from the age of ten onward, he had been able to fix her. When another boy had arrived, with legs that took him strolling off cliffs on alternate Thursdays, he had broken the curse. When a girl arrived, killing everyone she kissed, he fixed it. And when yet another girl arrived, cursed to dance until she keeled over from exhaustion every night of her life? Well, that had been no problem.

But, if there was one thing he had learned in this nasty, nasty business, it was that not all children are curable. And, he was beginning to think Astoria Greengrass was one of them. He had only worked with one other child with her condition, and as far as he knew, she was now living a relatively peaceful life, as a cat. She had held out until she was thirty, but, eventually, there isn’t any more one can do. Maledictions are a tricky business. Especially in the case of a Maledictus.

But, Healer Johnson had a larger problem on his hands. Patient confidentiality was of the utmost importance. That confidentiality was threatened due to the horrible people who were always poking around outside his hospital. He didn’t like those Circus people. They didn’t mean well at all. He had called the Aurors on them several times in his career, but they always got away. It was infuriating, really. Someone should do something. He didn’t think they knew about Astoria, or any of his other patients, who had conditions of interest. He hoped not, at least.

Her parents hadn’t needed to be cruel, giving her that name. Astoria. As if she needed another reminder.

* * *

The bright sunlight filtered in through the window of Astoria’s room, filling the little space with a warm, sunny glow. Normally, Astoria was a heavy sleeper, and she could sleep the day away, as Healer Johnson always said. However, so nervous, and excited was she about her first day of school, that she had not spent the night tossing and turning, twisting in her sheets, sometimes throwing them off because she was hot, and other times wrapping herself in them due to the cold.

At one point earlier in the morning, she had been about to drift off to sleep, but was interrupted by Daphne’s barn owl tapped angrily at the window, rousing her from her bed, any thoughts of sleep abandoned. She hadn’t answered Daphne’s last two letters and had all of last year and this year been answering less and less often. She felt slightly guilty. It wasn’t Daphne’s fault that she was estranged. And Astoria had a sneaking suspicion that what little contact she did have with her family was mostly owed to her beautiful older sister.

Astoria glanced over her sister’s letter. Apparently, some horrible mass murderer was on the loose and so Daphne’s parents hadn’t let her and her friends do anything alone over the summer. Astoria threw the letter in the wastepaper basket, ignoring the angry hoot from the owl. “Oh shut it!” Astoria said angrily, shooing the owl off the window-seal. She would write Daphne. Once she had something interesting to write about.

Of course, she doubted the same sort of shenanigans that passed at Hogwarts would be going on at Ilvermorny. As Healer Johnson had assured her, there was no sort of danger at Ilvermorny. If there was a top-secret item that dark wizards wanted to steal, it certainly wouldn’t be hidden in a school full of children. No founder had let loose some horrible magical beast intent on murdering the student body. She had nothing of that sort to worry about.

On Daphne’s last visit this summer, when Astoria had remarked on the safety standards at Hogwarts, Daphne had become quite defensive. “It’s not Hogwarts! It’s Harry Potter! He always causes a wealth of trouble, I’m telling you! All my friends find him detestable, Astoria. Absolutely detestable. Father says he is a delinquent in the making, and I quite agree. The only reason he hasn’t been expelled is because Dumbledore likes him!” Daphne complained about this Harry Potter boy quite often, and Astoria was beginning to grow slightly tired of it.

Astoria couldn’t quite villainize her sister. Daphne was self-centered, vain, and at times, completely thoughtless. She was either unaware, or unconcerned of others’ feelings, and Astoria put it down to wealthy, only child syndrome. Astoria had a lot of patience for those sort of people, and she knew that Daphne despite her flaws, meant well. At least when it came to her.

Before her last visit that summer, Daphne had read a book about Ilvermorny, so she could discuss all the facts with Astoria. It was a bit funny, listening to her sister trying to show-off her knowledge by not so subtly working in her information into the conversation. Daphne had also brought Astoria blue and cranberry ribbons, the school colors of course. Astoria had promised to write all about it, and Daphne had hugged her tightly, even crying a little.

Astoria watched the barn-owl fly off, and immediately regretted not sending a letter. She was not a vindictive person, and it wasn’t fair to punish Daphne for something out of her control.

Astoria dressed quickly and grabbed her trunk. She would get all her school supplies, such as her wand, books, potions, and other sort of items, on arrival. That is simply how Ilvermorny did things. Everyone paid a flat school fee, and that covered all needed materials.

Yesterday, Healer Johnson and the nurses had thrown a going-away party for her, which had been quite nice. There were presents and stories from school day’s long past. Everyone told her about their respective houses and argued about which one was better. Astoria shrugged a shoulder, when asked what house she was hoping for. Truthfully, she didn’t know. They sounded different from the houses Daphne always wrote her about, and she was sincerely hoping that she didn’t end up in one that was considered silly or stupid.

As she bounded down the stairs, she nearly ran straight into Healer Johnson, who must have been climbing the stairs to fetch her.

“Astoria!” he exclaimed, stepping back nervously.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you!” Astoria was in her opinion, a little clumsy. To an objective observer, she would be a danger on legs.

“No worries. Er, um, see. I wanted to talk to you. Last night, did you do a quick transformation? It would be good if you got it out of the way. That way you would have a few months at school to get settled in, see. Um. You know. Before you needed to change.” Healer Johnson stumbled out, nervously wiping sweat off his brow.

“Yep. I did. Went out for a bit and all that.” Astoria mumbled. She hated to talk about it. Healer Johnson winced at the tone. This was supposed to be an exciting day, and she could tell he felt guilty about bringing up her curse.

“Excellent. Very good. Very good. All packed I see. All packed.” Healer Johnson twiddled his thumbs and wrung his hands. Astoria giggled at the nervous, little man in front of her. They turned to go down the steps, after a bit of an awkward dance at who would go down the stairs first, which caused Astoria to nearly tumble down onto the landing.

They ate a big, but hurried breakfast. Astoria could put down quite a lot of food. Her curse took a lot of energy out of her, especially when she had to change. Astoria was wishing she hadn’t eaten however, because she was suddenly, so incredibly nervous.

She was half expecting another letter from her parents to arrive, telling her it would be best if she never went to school at all, or perhaps from Ilvermorny, saying they were rescinding their offer to educate her. She was British, not American, and they didn’t want her taking up space in their school. However, none of this came to pass and it wasn’t long before Healer Johnson was ushering Astoria out the door.

“Healer Johnson?” Astoria asked, as he grabbed her hand tightly in his. Apparation with her always made him nervous. Anytime they went to a restaurant, a No-maj cinema, the ballet, or to a Quodpot game, and he had to apparate her there, he became extremely nervous. One of the nurses told her that he had a wife once, but she had been splinched rather terribly during apparation. Astoria never asked about her.

“What is it, Astoria?” he said, turning to look at her.

“We get to Ilvermorny by portkey, right?” Astoria asked, a little unsurely. Daphne had always talked to her of the Hogwarts Express, but as Healer Johnson had said to her, it was in no way feasible to provide that sort of transportation to Ilvermorny. Afterall, Ilvermorny provided educational services to the United States, Canada, and the Caribbean. There was no way for everyone to arrive by a single mode of transportation.

“Yes, yes. Terribly unwise for children, you know. Children are prone to port-key sickness, especially first years. But, I suppose it can’t be avoided. If you get there, and you feel unwell, you just tell Mrs. Lewis, that’s the school healer, see. She’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

With that, Astoria was whisked away, the familiar tug of apparition in her gut, and with a crack they appeared in the middle of an old, abandoned part of New York’s subway system. Several other wizards and witches with children and teenagers alike were appearing with their families. She was clutching Healer Johnson’s hand in her own, suddenly extremely afraid to let go.

There were many people crowding the station, but not as many as she had expected. “Is this everyone?” she asked, her voice coming out in a strange, high pitch that she had never heard herself use.

“No, Astoria. This is just our time slot for this portkey station. There are twenty total portkey stations spread across the United States. Lucky us, we got an early time-slot!” Healer Johnson must have sensed her nervousness, because he was making quite the effort to stem his usual blunders.

A tall, impatient looking woman, with a shiny MACUSA identification badge was standing in the crowd, trying to get children to form in a line. “Everyone is here for the nine-fifteen time slot, right? If you are here early, please leave and come back! We won’t have enough space for you. If you do not remember your time slot, please see my associate, Ben Miller.”

A short, rather large man, with enormous sideburns, raised his hand, waving. A shiny MACUSA badge was also pinned to his robes and kept having to reach up and mop the sweat from his brow. He looked tired and huffed loudly as a swarm of nearly twenty people rushed over to him.

The woman shook her head and raised her hand, snapping her fingers impatiently. “Alright, alright. I hate to break up everyone’s goodbyes, but we have a lot of students to get off to school! In five minutes, and I do mean five, I need those with the last names of A-D, to come to me please.”

A very haggard looking mother with a Jersey accent was pushing a tall, big dark-haired boy, who looked to be about fifteen forward, and pushing a small, scrawny boy who looked to be about Astoria’s age after him. “Alright, Sonny, you look after your brother! And no more funny business, got it? If I get anotha owl about you screwin around, you’ll get it the minute you step off Mount Greylock.” She yelled after the older boy, who had already shrugged off her, heading for the MACUSA official.

“Yeah, yeah Ma. I got it.” he called over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. The small scrawny boy darted after him struggling to keep up.

“Bye Peter! You follow your brother, yeah?” The smaller boy, whom Astoria assumed was Peter, didn’t answer, just glaring at his shoes darkly, before nearly tripping over his feet as he tried to keep up with Sonny’s long strides.

Astoria’s head turned every which way, trying to drink in the crowd, the noise, the excitement. It was bustling, busy, and hectic. Everything in this country was. There was a part of her that liked it, the hum of constant, fast paced movement, and part of her that longed for something quieter.

She tried to peer over the crowd to see exactly what was going on up next to the impatient MACUSA official, but she couldn’t possibly see over the sea of heads. She felt sick to her stomach, impossibly nervous. She didn’t like crowded spaces, and everyone seemed to be drawing closer and closer together. She huddled next to Healer Johnson.

“How are there so many people?” she said, nearly shouting over the buzz of conversation. If Astoria had to guess there were nearly a hundred students all with their respective families. Healer Johnson laughed nervously.

“Well, this is the portkey station for all of the North-Eastern United States. Even though they split everyone up into time-slots, it still is a lot of people in one place. There are getting to be more and more students, you know. They really should come up with something else.” Healer Johnson shifted from one foot to the other, glancing over the heads that Astoria couldn’t.

“E through H. You will be departing in five minutes. If you are not E through H step back!” the woman shouted, having to point her wand at her throat to amplify her words. Astoria started forward with a startled look, but Healer Johnson pulled her back.

“Oh! Er, remember, uh. Johnson, not Greengrass. You have to remember, Astoria.” Healer Johnson whispered. Astoria stopped and nodded, looking down. Healer Johnson and she stood in silence, and she could tell there was something that he was wrestling with. There was something her wanted to tell her. She could always tell.

“Listen, Astoria. I didn’t want to tell you this, because the last thing I would ever want to do is scare you. And, I know that you know, I don’t think there is anything wrong or shameful about your—”

“I know.” Astoria interrupted. She wasn’t keen on hearing this speech again, sweet as it was. She had heard it time and time again, and it did nothing but make her heart clench.

“Well, listen. What I’m trying to say, is that there are people out there, very bad people, that may want to hurt. What I mean is, they may want to hurt _people like you_. And, just be careful. I’m not saying you have to hide anything, but—”

“I know. I’ll be sure to keep myself hidden. I know what’s at stake.” Astoria cut him off. Healer Johnson gave a heavy sigh. Astoria’s throat began to close up, and she wrung her hands. She was suddenly very thirsty and wished she had some water.

Astoria knew that Healer Johnson had said there would be people in Britain, who would disapprove of her, but somehow, she didn’t think that was who Healer Johnson was talking about. There must be others, who wouldn’t just not like her, but might try to harm her in some way. It made her sick to her stomach.

There was a small part of her, however, that was glad to hear this information. At least then, she could pretend that she was hiding her identity to protect herself, rather than because her own family was ashamed of her. A small part of her hoped that her family knew about these bad people, and maybe that is why they had sent her away. But a larger part of her, the more intelligent, rational part, knew that it was a vain hope. Her family didn’t care what happened to her, so long as she didn’t embarrass them.

Astoria shuffled nervously and began to gnaw at her lip. How on earth was she supposed to do this? She rarely left the Hospital, and when she did, it was always in the company of Healer Johnson. She had never even had a friend before! Her best friend was Daphne, and she only saw her four times a year!

“What if I don’t make friends?” Astoria blurted out, panicking, turning to grip Healer Johnson’s sleeve. Healer Johnson turned to her, looking slightly bewildered.

“Oh. Well, Astoria. I wouldn’t worry about that. You are so wonderful! I’m sure you’ll have plenty of friends.” Healer Johnson smoothed back her hair and patted her shoulder. Astoria nodded and tried her best to hold back tears. “Now look here. Er, um. You just walk up, and introduce yourself, and just talk to them like you talk to me!”

Astoria gave him a forlorn look and said, “But I don’t know how.” Healer Johnson sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a bag of sweets.

“I have always found that sweets are wonderful for making friends.” Healer Johnson said, passing the bag to her. It had all the classics, caramel cauldrons, gummy jarveys, and even Terry’s Twisting Taffy. Astoria hugged him fiercely, and as if on cue, the impatient woman snapped her fingers again.

“I’m going to need I through L please! Your portkey leaves in five minutes! Time is Money, wizards!” Astoria grabbed her trunk and gave Healer Johnson one last wave, before fighting her way up to the front.

A crowd of perhaps thirty children of all different ages were pushing and pulling desperate to get to the front. Astoria fell in with them, noticing some of them carried cages with animals like owls and cats. She hadn’t thought to bring a pet, but she wasn’t overly fond of birds. An owl gave her a friendly hoot and Astoria shied away from it. Birds were always wanting to make friends with her. It was as if they could sense…well. No need to think about that on her first day.

“Form a line! Yes, please, in front of the locker!” the woman shouted, giving them all a disapproving look. “I swear! The start of term is the absolute worst day of the year. I work in the finance department! What do I know about children?” She muttered angrily to herself. Astoria supposed that with this many students to get to school, all over the country, the MACUSA must ask their employees to volunteer. She pitied the woman. It certainly wasn’t proving to be an easy job.

Astoria saw that there was a large metal locker that students were hurrying to line up in front of. Astoria filed in herself. “Yes, yes. Just put your trunks in there, close the door. The next person will open the locker and repeat!” the woman yelled, before rubbing her temples.

“It’s a special locker. You just put your suitcase in there, and it transports it straight to Mount Greylock!” a girl whispered to her friend excitedly. Astoria’s lip found its way in between her teeth again. How did those girls already know each other?

When it was Astoria’s turn, she shoved her trunk into the metal locker and closed the door. It shut with a click, and when she opened it back up, her trunk was gone. It had vanished. 

“Come on. Grab the rope.” the woman said, pulling Astoria by her sleeve. Astoria turned her head and saw everyone had formed another line, with each student holding on to a long rope. They were chattering loudly amongst themselves. Some of the older kids were making jokes and rolling their eyes at the rope, while children Astoria thought looked closer to her age gripped the rope tightly.

Astoria nodded timidly and clutched the rope in her fist. She looked into the crowd, trying to find Healer Johnson in the mass of parents, and younger siblings, but she couldn’t see him. She felt tears rise to her eyes again, but she refused to cry.

The woman glanced at her watch and called “Thirty seconds. Everyone holding on? Good?” She looked up and down the rope. “You there! In the New York Yankees Cap! You better hold tighter than that! Hey, Morrison! I work with your father and if I have to tell him you missed the portkey because you were messing around!” Yankees cap and Morrison looked abashed and gripped the rope tighter.

“Five seconds!” the woman shouted. Astoria held on for dear life. She thought she saw a flash of Healer Johnson’s red sweater, but before she could be sure, there was a loud rushing in her ears, and as if pulled by some great force, the world around her disappeared in a whirl.

When Astoria landed, she crumpled to the ground, still gripping the rope tightly, her fingernails digging into her palm. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her knees and smoothed her hair down. “You can let go of the rope.” a voice said.

Astoria turned to find a girl with curly, dark hair grinning at her. “Hey. I’m Rachelle.” Astoria nodded, a little feebly, and let go of the rope. Rachelle was very pretty with dark skin and warm, almost golden eyes. She was looking at Astoria a little expectantly, and Astoria realized with utter horror, the girl was still waiting for Astoria to introduce herself.

“Oh! Sorry. I’m Ast-Callie!” Astoria said, thrusting her hand out, and then dropping it. Girls her age didn’t shake hands.

“Wow! That portkey must have done a number on you. You forgot your own name!” Rachelle giggled. Astoria flushed.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Astoria mumbled. Rachelle just laughed and shook her head.

“I’m honestly surprised I wasn’t like that, to be honest. My dad isn’t a wizard, and I never really knew my mother, so this was my first portkey.” Astoria nodded her head.

“Oh, really? Your dad is a no-maj? What was it like? Finding everything out I mean.” Astoria asked, nervously checking her knees for more dirt.

“Shocking. I will admit. I honestly thought the letter was a prank. I thought we were on some hidden camera TV show.” Rachelle tied up her curly hair and kept talking. “But they sent a whadyacallit, MACUSA worker by? To follow up? Apparently, they do that with all students like me. Glad they did. They had to give me another letter. I threw the first one away.”

Astoria laughed politely. She realized she should probably say something. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get to the station? I mean, that part is abandoned. You can’t get there unless you apparate.” Astoria immediately regretted the question, worried it was somehow rude. But Rachelle just threw her head back and laughed.

“Well, first we had to drive. Because I live in Delaware, and it’s a bit of a trip for me. They told us to go to Grand Central and find a sign that had a picture of an eagle on it. It’s right up by the wall, sort of hidden by this pillar. Well, I reached out and touched the left wing, just like they said to, and the wall sort of turned shimmery? We just walked through. Just like that!” Rachelle was beaming and Astoria marveled at how miraculous it must feel, to experience magic when you’ve never known about it.

“I’m not explaining it well. The lady that came by my house gave better instructions.” Rachelle said. She talked a lot. Which was good for Astoria, because she wasn’t all together sure how to talk to this girl.

A tall man with long, black hair, pulled back into a ponytail strode to stand in front of the group of chattering students; he wore midnight-blue robes and looked as though he couldn’t be more than thirty. He reached down, pulling a wand out of his tall, leather boot, and raised it up in the air, shooting a torrent of red sparks into the sky. The students fell silent and turned to look at him. His blue eyes sparkled mischievously.

“Prof Hook! Long time no see!” an older boy, whom Astoria remembered as Morrison called out. The man gave Morrison a look and shook his head.

“Good morning! As Mr. Morrison so aptly introduced me, my name is Professor Hook.” Hook stopped and gave Morrison a pointed look. “I teach Magical History and I’m the Head of Wampus House.” Morrison whooped loudly and Professor Hook gave him another severe look, but Astoria could tell he hardly meant it.

“Now, we have to get you heading up to Mount Greylock before the other group arrives. Most of you probably know this, but for those that don’t you will be taking a hike up the mountain, until you get to the school. From there, if you are a returning student, you will head into the amphitheater. If you are a first year, you will wait outside.” Professor Hook motioned to a small dirt path that cut through the trees.

“I need to wait for the next group. Mr. Morrison. Lead them up.” Morrison gave a dramatic mock salute, and his friend in the Yankees cap doubled over with laughter. Astoria wasn’t sure that these were the best students to trust with her safety, but it seemed she didn’t have a choice.

“Students. Follow me. No dilly-dallying or gabbing or any funny business of the kind!” Morrison said, in a high pitched, severe sounding voice, that was clearly an impression of someone, because several students laughed. Morrison and Yankees Cap quickly led the way, starting up the dirt path. Rachelle reached over and squeezed Astoria’s hand excitedly.

As they were walking away, Astoria saw several children appear out of thin air, clutching another rope, knocking into one another. One small girl was flattened completely by a much older boy who jumped up immediately and looked very apologetic as he helped the tiny girl to her feet.

“So. Where are you from?” Rachelle asked.

“Tree root up here. Don’t trip!” called Morrison over his shoulder. Astoria nervously turned back to Rachelle.

“I’m from Manhattan.” Astoria said.

“Really? That is so cool! Is your family magical?” Astoria hesitated.

“Uh. Well, actually, it’s just me and my dad too. But, yeah. He is a wizard. He’s a Healer. He works at Rappaport Memorial Hospital.” Astoria had never referred to Healer Johnson as her dad, but she hoped he wouldn’t mind. It would be far too difficult to explain the family she rarely saw.

“Wow! What’s a Healer?” Rachelle asked curiously.

“Oh! It’s like um…a doctor? That’s why you call them, right? Wizards have their own hospitals and stuff, just like no-majs.” Astoria explained. She couldn’t believe she had already made friend! And someone who had no-maj parents. How exciting! She wondered how many questions would be to many questions to ask.

After maybe two miles, they finally reached a huge clearing of trees, and there it was.

Ilvermorny was a vast, gargantuan structure. It was made up of three large castles all surrounded by a great river that ran around the outskirts of the clearing. There were crowds of students, all milling about on the lawn, some heading toward what looked like a pit, but had seats running up the sides. It reminded Astoria of a book she had read about Ancient Greece. That must be the amphitheater. She could see a large carving laid into the stone floor of the amphitheater, but she couldn’t quite make it out from this distance. Astoria could see, at the very far end of the clearing, a huge stadium was erected. Astoria assumed that must be the Quodpot pitch.

A small, petite looking woman in neat periwinkle robes briskly headed in their direction, and frowned deeply when her eyes fell on Morrison. She had light brown hair, pulled into a neat bun. A pair of rather large, round tortoise-shell glasses covered her face and she kept having to push them up as they slid down her delicate nose every few seconds. She was clutching a clipboard to her chest.

“Good morning Prof. Hardess.” Morrison called out gleefully. Hardess didn’t look the least bit amused. “Professor Hard-ass.” Yankee Cap muttered.

“I can hear you! Mr. Kaufman. That is ten points from Wampus!” Morrison and Kaufman groaned. Astoria recognized the woman's voice as the one Morrison had been mocking earlier. 

“Nice going Riley.” Morrison grumbled, knocking off the boy’s Yankees cap. Professor Hardess gave an indignant sniff and rolled back her slender shoulders.

“Well, students. Those of you that are returning, please head toward the amphitheater. If this is your first year, welcome.” Professor Hardess said, rather stiffly. Most of the students ambled past her, seemingly in no hurry to reach their destination. Only Rachelle and Astoria were left standing. Professor Hardess gave them a tight smile.

“Good morning. I am Professor Hardess. I am the head of the Potions Department and I am also the Head of Horned Serpent House. Could I have your names, please?” Professor Hardess took a brown feathered quill and gestured to her parchment.

“Rachelle Ingram.” Professor Hardess’ brow furrowed in concentrations as she scanned her list. “Nearly five-hundred first years this year.” she commented, as she moved her quill down the list. “Ingram. Ingram.” she muttered to herself. “Ah. Here we are. And you?” She said, turning to look at Astoria.

“Callie Johnson.” Astoria said, beginning to worry her name wouldn’t be on the list. Or the wrong name would be on the list. In took several moments. “Here we are. Follow me, please. We must hurry. The next group will be coming up the mountain very soon.”

Professor Hardess turned on her heel and walked at such a fast pace, Astoria and Rachelle had to struggle to keep up with her. “We are just getting so many students see. When the school was founded, it was just a few! But, my oh my. We cover all of North America! Such a vast, vast area. It is getting nearly impossible to get everyone here. I mean nearly thirty-five hundred students in total! Can you imagine! We will have to construct another building soon, I expect.” Astoria glanced nervously at Rachelle, but she just shrugged.

“We should have done reconstruction over the summer. The MACUSA postponed it, however.” Professor Hardess led them to the riverbank, where a large tent had been set up, that Astoria hadn’t noticed before. Professor Hardess sighed gratefully when they arrived, seemingly glad to stop having to supply conversation. A group of nearly fifty first years were already gathered there. Astoria spotted Peter, the boy from the station earlier, glaring at the ground and kicking a rock, looking very cross.

“I’m going to escort the next group in. I believe they are coming from Canada. My sister is sending her daughter this year, so I hope to see her among them.” Professor Hardess said nervously, before darting off, her light footsteps hurriedly making their way back to where she came from. She was a rather stiff, severe woman, but Astoria could tell she really liked children, but wasn’t quite sure how to talk to them.

Astoria and Rachelle stood together at the edge of the tent, staring after Professor Hardess retreating figure. Astoria glanced at Peter, and nodded toward him. Rachelle smiled and walked up to him, dragging Astoria with her.

“Hi! I’m Rachelle and this is Callie! What’s your name?” Peter glanced up shyly, the sullen look still polluting his features.

“Peter.”

“Cool! Where are you from, Peter?” Rachelle asked, giving him a bright, sunny grin.

“Jersey.”

“Oh! That’s awesome! I’m from Delaware and Callie is from Manhattan, which I thought was pretty cool.” Astoria smiled at Peter. She wouldn’t say she was a particularly shy person, but this was her first time meeting children her age, except for the one’s at the Hospital. She was observing everything, taking it in.

“Crap. I’m doing it again. Sorry, Callie. I didn’t mean to talk for you. I do that a lot.” Rachelle gave Astoria an apologetic smile. Astoria shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it.” Rachelle smiled and turned back to Peter. Astoria and Rachelle were able to pry answers out of Peter. Peter was a very quiet, scrawny boy, who answered their questions with short, dry responses. Astoria could tell he wasn’t trying to be rude; he would give them a tense smile on occasion.

More and more students were arriving. Some had thick southern accents, some said they were from Canada, and others from places like Costa Rica. Astoria found that Healer Johnson was right. If she just smiled and introduced herself, she made plenty of friends. She shared the bag of candy she had brought when people got hungry, and soon, Rachelle didn’t have to talk for her at all.

Later, Astoria would marvel at how no one cared about magical parentage. There were no conversations of blood or whose father was who. No one had magical lineages they could trace back for years and years, and even if they could, no one cared to. It was so very easy, and so very simple; it was so very different from the life she would be thrust into, just a few short years later.

After nearly four hours of sitting around, eating sandwiches that magically appeared on platters that sat on the large buffet table in the corner of the tent, a short, rather plump woman with honey-blonde hair, that looked suspiciously fake, strolled into the tent. She was wearing bright, red robes, that matched her glittering lip gloss and shiny high heels that she teetered on. She pointed her wand to her throat and said “Sonorous.”

“Hi y’all! I am Professor Amica! I am one of the botany professors here, and I am head of Pukwudgie House, and I just am just tickled to welcome you to Ilvermorny!” The witch had a thick, southern accent and she spread her arms open wide at her announcement. “Did everyone get somethin’ to eat? I know y’all’ve been sitin’ here for quite awhile. But, your patience is about to pay off! It’s time to get sorted!”

The tent was now holding nearly five-hundred students and they all started chattering excitedly. “Settle down! Settle down! I need everyone to get in a line. It doesn’t matter the order, but don’t trample each other, now!” The students did exactly the opposite, pushing and shoving to be first in line. Astoria settled in between Peter and Rachelle. Finally , after about ten minutes, when Professor Amica was able to get everyone lined up, she led them out the entrance of the tent.

They walked along, an impressive large, line that snaked across the school grounds. Ilvermorny reminded Astoria much more of a University Campus, due to the sheer size of it. They reached the outskirts of the amphitheater, and started down the steps, the line coiling to make a great circle around the carving in the floor.

The noise was deafening. What could have been anywhere from three thousand to five- thousand students were cheering and screaming, and the walls of the amphitheater were shaking. Astoria was pretty sure she saw pebbles trembling on the ground. If all of them were to be sorted, they could be standing here for hours.

Astoria took her place in the great circle and looked nervously from left to right. A woman was standing near the large carving etched into the stone floor. She had long black hair and deep, dark eyes. She was tall, perhaps the tallest woman Astoria had ever seen, and maybe the most beautiful and magnificent as well.

“Good afternoon. My name is Headmistress Mask, and I am honored that you stand before us today. I am once again gratified by your patience as we gather here. I understand that the start of term can be a long, arduous ordeal for many of you, and it is with great pleasure that I report everyone handled themselves exceptionally well today.” No wonder. Astoria couldn’t think of anyone who would dare disrespect this woman.

“Now, before we get started this evening, I would like to say a few words. Reminders for our returning students, and new information for our newcomers. The staff and faculty here at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry want all students to know that we understand what happens when you mix young minds and magic. Mistakes will happen, and while there are consequences for these mistakes, we want you to feel comfortable enough to know that you can always come to any member of our staff. In light of what has gone on in recent years at some other fine institutions—”

Mask paused dramatically, raising her hand for silence amongst the laughter that had broken out among the students. They quieted almost instantly. “As I was saying. In light of what has gone on in recent years, we want you to know, that if something is amiss on school grounds, as often happens when working with magic, you are to come directly to a trusted adult. There will be no solving any sort of mysteries, no fighting dangerous beasts, and no dealing with hazardous situations on our own, yes?” She gave everyone a kind smile, but Astoria could tell she meant business.

“Now, I believe we have some lovely new faces who are anxiously awaiting the sorting.” A great cheer erupted from the crowd and Astoria swallowed hard. Mask gestured to the center of the amphitheater.

“If you fancy yourself an adventurer, you belong in Thunderbird!” Mask called, her voice carrying up the rows and rows of seats.

In the middle of the floor, a great stone carving depicted a rather strange looking crest with four statues surrounding it. At the mention of Thunderbird, the carved bird flapped its wings. Astoria swore she could feel air stir her hair from the force. A portion of the students cheered, all clapping their hands and stamping their feet. Astoria immediately knew she didn’t want this house. She didn’t care for birds.

“Or, perhaps you fancy yourself a scholar, and enjoy endeavors of the mind. Horned Serpent would be the place for you!” The carving of the great serpent had a stone laid into its head, and at the mention of its name, the stone glowed a bright blue. Another group of students cheered, although slightly softer than the previous group.

“Maybe you find yourself wanting to heal others! You would find yourself in Pukwudgie.” A statue of a great creature raised its bow and arrow, rather threateningly. A loud cheer erupted as well, and Astoria was beginning to find herself more and more nervous.

“And last, but certainly not least, some of you may desire to test your mettle in Wampus! The house of the warrior.” A great statue depicting a large cat-like creature gave a loud roar, and the loudest cheer Astoria had ever heard erupted from the stands.

“Now. The process is quite simple. Step up to the knot on the floor—” Headmistress Mask pointed to the strange, twisted carving etched into the stone floor, “and speak your name. The statues will tell you where you belong. And remember, nothing is final. If at the end of the year, you feel your placement has changed, there will be an opportunity to resort.” Astoria let out a breath of relief. If it all went to hell, at least nothing was final.

One by one students were called up. They stepped up to the knot, spoke their name, and the statues performed their act. Every student received a loud applause, no matter how many students had been previously sorted. Astoria was near the middle of the circle, and it took nearly two hours before Peter was called to the knot.

“Peter Amato.” he said, quietly. When the Wampus gave its roar, he gave it a cross look, before dragging his feet back to his seat, deaf to the cheers around him. When he got back, despite her nerves, Astoria still gave him a pat on the back.

“Nice job. I bet you’ll do great there.” Peter gave her a fake smile, but she could tell he appreciated her attempt to cheer him up. Headmistress Mask nodded her head at Astoria and Astoria stepped toward the knot.

“Callie Johnson.” she called, confidently, although she stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar name. Nothing happened. For five awful, long seconds, nothing happened. What had she done wrong? She had said her name—. Oh. Her name! So soft, she barely heard herself, she whispered “Astoria Greengrass.” The Wampus gave her a great war, and Astoria gave a relieved sigh, barely audible against the sound of cheering students.

Rachelle was next, and she gave Astoria a huge smile before bounding up to the knot.

“Rachelle Ingram.” The Wampus also gave her a roar, and she squealed in happiness, rushing over to hug Astoria.

It took two more hours to finish the sorting, and Astoria thought she might faint from hunger. Finally, slowly, students exited the amphitheater. When Astoria finally climbed out of the pit, she saw that there were several blankets set up all across the lawn, with platters of food waiting for them. 

“Hey! Our portkey buddies! Over here!” Astoria turned her head to look at Morrison and Kaufman who were waving furiously at her. Astoria gestured to Rachelle who nodded as they began to head over to their picnic blanket. Astoria reached behind her, grabbing Peter’s hand, pulling him after her.

“You don’t have to sit with us. But, we would really like if you did.” Astoria said kindly. Peter gave her a tense nod and followed her. They settled down next to Kaufman and Morrison. Kaufman was still wearing his Yankees cap, although it had a smudge of dirt on it from when Morrison knocked it to the ground.

“Hi. I’m Cody Morrison and this is Riley. Fourth years. Welcome to Wampus!” Astoria smiled and nodded.

“I’m Rachelle. Nice to meet you.” Rachelle took a copper plate from Cody, and started loading food onto her plate.

“Your Sonny’s brother, right?” Riley asked Peter. Peter scowled.

“Yeah. I am.”

Riley nodded. “Wow. You guys look nothing alike! It will be nice to be in the same house as your brother, though. My sister is in Horned Serpent, and I never see her. It’s mostly because she says I’m a waste of space, but I know she loves me.” Peter just nodded and took a small sip of water.

Cody laughed. “Well, I hope your sister loves me more, because this is the year, I’m finally going to ask her out.” Riley gave Cody an annoyed look and punched his arm.

“My sister would never go out with you!” Cody just laughed.

“We’ll see.” Cody turned to look at her. “Callie, right? The girl who took forever to get sorted.”

“Not forever.” Rachelle defended. “It was only a few seconds longer.”

Cody shrugged his shoulders. “I saw you mutter something. What was it?” Astoria froze and her heart jumped in her chest.

“Oh. Um. I said ‘Please do something’.” Astoria said with a nervous laugh. Cody joined in.

“Glad it worked.” Astoria nodded and took a sip of her water.

“So. What did the Headmistress mean when she said sorting wasn’t final?” Rachelle asked.

“Well, I mean. It makes sense, right? At the end of the year, if you don’t like your house, you can resort. There is no guarantee you’ll get something different, but if you’ve changed in some way, the sorting statues will account for it.” Riley explained.

Peter perked up. “Can you do it every year?” he asked. Riley looked a little surprised that Peter was even talking, but he nodded.

“Yeah. Monica Garcia has been in all four houses. She is in Thunderbird right now, though. She’ll probably stay there.”

Rachelle reached for her water, taking a long sip. “So, that Professor Hook. Is he our Head of House?”

“Yeah. He’s so awesome. They asked him to be the Dueling Professor, but he said no. Wanted to teach Magical History. Of course, he isn’t the department head or anything, but that’s because Mask is. Mask is the only Headmistress I’ve ever heard of who actually teaches, and she only does the upper-level courses, but it’s still pretty cool of her to do.” Cody said, looking over towards Mask, who was seated with staff under a pavilion at a table.

“Oh. Wow. Who teaches Dueling?” Astoria asked.

“That’s Professor Birch. She rocks. She is Head of Thunderbird house and I swear, she is the coolest teacher. I mean, besides Professor Hook.” Riley nodded his head toward a woman, who was sitting under the staff pavilion. She had long, dark, thick braids and brown skin. She wore brilliant gold robes and was twirling a wand between her hand and talking to Professor Hardess, who looked extremely excited that Birch was even speaking to her. It made Astoria feel a little bad for the woman.

“I want a wand. When do we get those?” Rachelle asked, gesturing to the wand in Professor Brooks hand.

“Oh. Tonight. In just a few minutes I expect. Of course, some wizards and witches don’t use wands. Like, Professor Mask. She doesn’t ever use one, and I’ve never seen her loose a duel, not even to Birch or Hook. So, they’ll test your adaptability for wandless magic, too. You get to go to special classes with Mask if you test in. But it’s rare.” Cody shook his head, a little wistfully.

As if on cue, Professor Birch stood, and waved her hand in the air. She cast the Sonorous spell and began to speak. “Hello, hello! I’m Professor Birch, for those of you that do not know. I will be escorting first years to receive their wands! Line up at the amphitheater, please!” Astoria jumped up, beyond excited.

As the line of first years moved toward the castle, Astoria and Rachelle were talking excitedly, occasionally asking Peter a question. He was actually talking a bit more, as he seemed cheered up about the idea of resorting. Astoria hoped he wouldn’t go. She found there was something about a sullen, slightly disagreeable personality that she found rather charming.

They stepped inside the castle, and Astoria marveled at the sheer size of it. It was a little intimidating, if she was honest. As exciting as this day had been, she didn’t feel at home. It was as if the castle knew she didn’t belong here. Astoria fidgeted nervously.

The group of first years were split up into five different lines at random, and sent to stand in front of classrooms. Astoria was split up from Rachelle and Peter, but she found she had no trouble talking to her peers. It was easy when you were pretending to be someone you weren’t. Astoria Greengrass may have a horrible, nasty blood curse, but Callie Johnson didn’t. Astoria Greengrass may be shy, quiet, awkward, and clumsy, but Callie Johnson wasn’t.

When it was finally her turn to go in, she was so excited she practically ran into the room. There was a woman, who was old and stooped, looking extremely tired. Astoria immediately felt bad for running in there and disturbing her. She had an odd urge to apologize.

“Hello, girl. What’s your name?” the woman asked.

“Callie. Callie Johnson.” Astoria said, proudly. The woman gave her a tired smile. “And yours?” Astoria asked, politely.

“Ah. June Wolfe. From Wolfe Wands. The finest wand company this side of the Atlantic Ocean!” the woman perked up immediately. Astoria could practically see the dollar signs flashing in her eyes. The timid old woman had transformed into a shrewd businesswoman before her eyes. Astoria jumped when the old woman, with a surprising amount of strength, lifted a large wooden chest onto the desk with a loud thump.

“Now. Let’s get you set up. Here we are, a yew wand with thunderbird tail feather!” June rummaged around, until she found the wand. Astoria opened the box, and the minute she touched it, a loud bang sounded, along with a torrent of thick red smoke. “Oh. Definitely not. I haven’t lost my touch, dear. I swear. Just a moment, just a moment.”

There was more digging around in the chest and another narrow box was produced. “Here we are, birch and wampus hair. Give it a go!” That one didn’t produce any sort of magic, and it wasn’t the last wand to fail her. Wand after wand failed to produce any sort of magic, or even worse, did, but with disastrous results. Ms. Wolfe’s hair even caught on fire when Astoria tried a Holly and Thunderbird.

“Let’s try wandless magic, yes?” Ms. Wolfe said. Astoria got a little excited, but as she waved her hands in the motions Ms. Wolfe told her to, nothing happened either. Her magic had taken so long to show up, and everyone had been worried she was a squib! Healer Johnson had put it down to her curse, but Astoria was unsure now. Perhaps the curse hadn’t just slowed her magic down, but stopped it entirely. 

Astoria stared forlornly out the window and gazed at a tree that was visible from the window. It was a strange looking tree, and it didn’t quite look like it fit with the surrounding landscape. All of a sudden, the tree started to shake, tremble, and twitch. Ms. Wolfe followed Astoria’s gaze and frowned.

“It sure is windy out, huh.” Ms. Wolfe said, a little nervously. The tree looked like it might bend over, maybe break in two. And, out of the soil beneath the tree, a thin stick erupted from the ground, pushing forth from the earth, and flew towards Astoria, shattering through the window, causing glass to fly everywhere. On instinct, Astoria raised her hand, and caught the wand in her fingers.

A shudder ran through her, and she could hear a faint whispering in her ear. A dark green light shimmered out of the wand. It felt natural and it felt right. This was…this was power. She turned to Ms. Wolfe with a pleased expression, expecting to find her grinning back at her. June Wolfe was not. She looked horrified. “That’s…that’s…you aren’t supposed to have that. That isn’t supposed to exist.” June was backing toward the door. Astoria looked alarmed. She had assumed that a wand had been dropped outside by accident and she had been able to call it forth. However, from the terrified look Astoria was receiving, she knew this was not the case.

“Okay! I’m sorry. I’ll put it back! It’s not a big deal! Let’s keep looking!” Astoria didn’t really understand why Mrs. Wolfe was suddenly so upset with her, but she would do what it took to fix it. She could let the wand go. Mrs. Wolfe stopped and seemed to consider her a moment.

“Come here girl. I’m going to say this once and only once. I know that wand. There is only one wand that could have come from that tree, and it is a dark wand, girl.” Mrs. Wolfe hobbled over to the classroom door. She turned the lock and took out her own wand, murmuring a few spells Astoria didn’t understand.

“That wand. That wand belonged to Gormlaith Gaunt. She was the Aunt of one of the founders of our school. That wand. That wand has a dark and terrible history. It was supposed to be destroyed! How it is here and well again, I do not know. It is possible…” Wolfe trailed off.

“What?” Astoria whispered.

“When the wand was destroyed, it was buried. A snakewood tree grew from the fragments. It’s a magical form of the Acacia tree. It was what the wand was made from and it’s said to have healing properties. It’s possible the tree was the wand’s way of healing itself.”

Astoria trembled slightly. “A healing wand! See that’s not so bad!” Astoria tried feebly. They were going to tell the Headmistress. They would write Healer Johnson, who would have to write her parents, who would be so ashamed of her they would never want to see her again!

“No, girl. No. That wand is snakewood and basilisk horn. Do you know who made that wand? Do you know who it belonged to?” Ms. Wolfe hissed, grabbing Astoria by the shoulders, giving her a shake.

“This is Slytherin’s wand, girl. I have no idea why it came to you. Why a common girl from American would have any sort of ties like that, but you need to understand. That wand is powerful. Too powerful for some little girl.”

Astoria felt her heart drop. Oh no. That. That wasn’t good. At all. Slytherin? Her sister said the guy was great! Her sister wouldn’t lie to her. Well, not on purpose anyway.

“I’m getting the Headmistress. She needs to—”

“Wait! Please! Don’t. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.” Astoria pleaded. She may not feel at home here, but she didn’t want to mess this up for herself. If she didn’t get this right, she might never go home.

“I swear, I don’t know anything about that wand. No one saw! Let’s just keep it a secret!” Astoria begged, tears coming to her eyes. Ms. Wolfe shook her head and sighed.

“I am too old for this. I am far too old for this.” Ms. Wolfe complained as Astoria began to sob.

“Please. I have family that would be really upset if I got in trouble. I know that it’s asking a lot, but let this go. I’ll try another wand, or I can—”

“Alright, alright! Calm down.” Ms. Wolfe sighed, shaking her head. “Listen. The wand chooses the wizard. That’s your wand. There is no getting another one. Not until that wand breaks, or it’s allegiance changes.”

Astoria sighed, and began to wring her hands. “Listen to me. I’m going to register your wand as Acacia and wampus hair. You are going to tell people that your wand is Acacia and wampus hair. You will never speak of this again.” Astoria nodded, her head moving so fast she started to get dizzy.

“Absolutely! Not a peep out of me! Mum is the word, I swear!” Astoria rambled, sounding a little like Healer Johnson. Ms. Wolfe shook her head.

“Get out of here. Go.” Astoria turned and ran out the room, the wand clutched in her hand, and into the grand entrance hall. She was surprised to find most of the students gone. She spotted Rachelle and Peter leaning up against a wall. Rachelle spotted her and waved wildly.

“Hey! Callie! Took you forever!” Rachelle bounded over to her and gave her a hug. “Guess what!”

“What?” said Callie, a little breathlessly, still extremely worried about what had happened in the old, abandoned classroom.

“I tested for wandless magic! Headmistress Mask came in to see it and everything! Isn’t it exciting?” Rachelle was clearly really pleased, and Astoria was happy for her.

“Oh wow! That’s amazing! Truly.” Astoria said, sincerely. She turned to Peter who smiled shyly at her. “What about you Peter? How did it go?”

“Good. I got ash and thunderbird tail feather. I’m happy with it.” he said quietly. Astoria smiled.

“Well, it seems you were both quite victorious!” she said, giving them a mischievous smile.

“What about you, Callie?” Rachelle asked. Astoria felt her throat close up. She wasn’t a liar, in general. But, she was lying about her blood malediction, where she was from, and who she was. What was one lie more?

Even though it made her stomach twist she said, “Acacia and wampus hair.” Rachelle squealed in excitement, and Peter gave her a nod of approval.

They walked back to the Wampus dorms together, led by Professor Hook. Later, Astoria would reflect on this moment as an illusion. It was a nice illusion, but an illusion nonetheless. She wasn’t really Callie Johnson. This wasn’t really her home. Rachelle and Peter were wonderful people, quite clearly. Far too wonderful for her. But, it wasn’t home, it wasn’t her people. It wasn’t where she belonged.

Astoria wouldn’t have to wait very long. It two years, her life would change forever.


	10. Draco (Summer 1995): Doldrums

Draco found himself sitting in Pansy Parkinson’s drawing room, trying to peer over Theodore Nott’s shoulder to look at the Quidditch magazine he had brought. Draco wished he had thought to bring one. Pansy and Daphne were talking excitedly, and Blaise was appearing to listen, though Draco caught his eye stray toward the magazine wistfully every few minutes.

When Blaise caught his eye, Draco mouthed “whipped”, earning him a harsh glare.

Finally, Daphne stood up and clapped her hands, giving each of them an excited look. “Guess what.” she said, eyes sparkling. She looked very pleased with herself, as she nearly always did. Draco sighed. Whatever she was about to tell them would be undoubtedly boring.

“What?” Blaise said, trying to show actual interest. Draco smirked.

“My sister is coming home!” Draco raised his eyebrows. Daphne occasionally mentioned the mysterious second Greengrass sister, but no one had ever seen her. She had long been a source of gossip among his mother’s friends, as Daphne mentioned her often, much to the ire of her parents. No one remembered the Greengrasses having a second daughter, and in fact, they didn't remember her even being mentioned, outside of Daphne's occasional references. Ever. More than once, the four of them had thought Daphne was hallucinating having a sister, or her parents had lied to her and said she did. 

“Are you sure?” Pansy asked, carefully. Daphne glared at her.

“Of course, I am sure! Why would I make up a sister?” Daphne spat, looking indignant.

“For attention?” Draco drawled, leaning back on the expensive couch he and Nott were seated on.

Blaise smirked at him. “You’re one to talk. We all remember…” he trailed off, grinning slyly.

“The hippogriff incident. You stuck with that for weeks. It was pathetic.” Nott finished.

Draco scowled. “It was a serious injury.” Pansy snorted, giving him a look of mild amusement.

“Well, unlike Draco and the hippogriff, I’m telling the truth! I haven’t told her anything about it, but I’m leaving in just a few days to surprise her with the news! She will be so excited!” Daphne exclaimed.

“For a few days, or to stay?” asked Pansy.

“To stay. She is coming home. For good. In light of the recent…well. In light of what happened at the Tri-Wizard tournament, my parents want her home. Safe.” Daphne replied, sitting back down. “I’m so excited for you to meet her. You will all just love her!”

Draco rolled his eyes. Nott sent a smirk Daphne’s way. “Is she as pretty as you?” he asked, teasingly.

Blaise sent Nott a glare that went ignored and Daphne wrinkled her nose. “I’m not answering that.” Daphne said, pretending to be annoyed, though likely secretly pleased at the compliment. 

“Well, I for one cannot wait to meet the famous lost sister. I mean, you’ve been telling us about her for years.” Pansy said, mischievously.

Daphne smiled and said, “Just you wait.” Draco stared out the window, already bored of the conversation. He didn’t see how they could sit around discussing some girl they didn’t even know, when there were promising prospects in the works, just under their noses.

“I see. Well, it’s a good time to bring her home. You don’t want her to miss out.” Nott said. Draco turned his head, locking eyes with Theo. Did he know? Nott looked away, however, revealing nothing.

Pansy nodded. “Oh yes. I don’t know if Potter is telling the truth, but I do know that my father has been at Draco’s nearly every night. Either they are having an affair together, or they are scheming.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “My father—” he began, ready to tell her off for her lewd comment.

“Mine has been at Draco’s too. They are definitely scheming. But, then again, they are always scheming. It doesn’t mean anything.” Nott said, cutting Draco off.

Draco stood and everyone looked at him expectantly. He was considered an authority in their circle. They may tease him, but they also looked to him, especially in matters of importance. What he said, went.

“I can’t tell you all much.” Draco said, pretending it was because he was bound to secrecy rather than because he knew little more than they did. “However, I do know enough to say this. Big things are coming. Our families will be doing very well in the years to come.” Theo smirked and Pansy grinned. Daphne and Blaise locked eyes, sharing a guarded look.

“My father believes the Ministry. He isn’t back.” Daphne said, firmly. Draco turned to look at her, smirking. The Greengrasses were undoubtedly the most fickle family in their circle. They never cast their lots with anyone, and then, when all the fighting was said and done, they pretended they had been on the winning side all along.

“If you say so.” Draco said, giving her a condescending look. Daphne huffed and turned away from him. He felt a little bad for hurting her feelings. He did like Daphne. He liked everyone in this room. But, if she believed the Ministry’s lies, he needed to correct her. Ignorance is no one’s friend.

Draco crossed the room and leaned against the wall, staring out the window. Blaise got up and stretched.

“Well, whether he is back or not, it hardly affects us. No use in debating it.” Blaise offered, walking over to the bookshelf, and scanning through the titles. 

Draco watched a bird fly across the sky. True. It wasn’t like they would be getting involved. Draco was sure his father would handle everything. He always did.

* * *

Later that night, Draco was sitting at the large dining room table, with only his mother for company. His father was currently taking dinner in the study with his friends. Apparently, they had more to discuss. It killed him that while his father and other important wizards were talking business, he was banished to the dining room to eat with his mother. It was both humiliating and infuriating. 

“How was the Parkinson’s?” his mother asked, taking a sip of wine. Draco was resting his hand on his hand as he twirled his fork idly in the other.

“Fine.” he said.

“Any gossip?” his mother asked, playfully. Draco rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to reply, but his mother seemed lonely and searching for conversation in his father’s absence, so he racked his brain, replaying the conversations he had barley paid attention to.

“Daphne says her sister is coming home.” he said, latching on to the only piece of the conversation he could tell his mother, and the only thing she would likely find interesting. His mother perked up at that, an almost wicked gleam in her eye.

“Really? Aspasia never talks about her. Anytime someone brings her up it’s always the same answer; she is being educated in America. I find that story odd. She’s been gone for what, twelve years? She must have been sent away long before she was ready to attend school.” Narcissa wondered aloud. Draco sighed. She loved when other families had a scandal. Draco, however, couldn’t care less.

“Yeah. Funny.” Draco commented, as he took his spoon and pushed his potatoes around.

“Don’t play with your food.” Draco threw his spoon down and sighed. “I’m not saying there is anything wrong with educating someone internationally.” his mother continued. “I mean, it is no secret that your father wanted you to go to Drumstrang, and had I been able to send you so far away, I would have done it. I can’t say Hogwarts has the best reputation as of late.”

“True. Dumbledore is an old coot. Someone should get rid of him.” Draco said. He wished he would be sent to Drumstrang. He hated Hogwarts.

“Your father has been trying. Dumbledore is a difficult man to bully. I will say, however, I think the Ministry is planning to take a more hands-on approach this year. Perhaps they will be able to keep him in line.” his mother commented.

Draco sighed. He hoped so.

“Well, when is the Greengrass girl coming home? I can’t imagine why they would pull her out of school so suddenly. It can’t be good for her. Perhaps she was expelled?” his mother prodded. Draco groaned. How was he supposed to know?

“I don’t know. Maybe. I doubt it. If she is anything like Daphne, then she won’t be one to cause trouble.” Draco said, only responding after his mother gave him a wounded look.

“Am I boring you?” she asked, quietly. Draco immediately felt bad. It wasn’t just he who his father had been ignoring. He could see it affected his mother as well.

“No. I’m sorry. Er, I think Daphne said her name was Astoria?” Draco tried, albeit half-heartedly. His mother sniffed, nose wrinkling.

“Hm. Not a classical name, nor is it astrological? Certainly odd. Of course, the Parkinson’s didn’t name their daughter after the traditional fashion. I never really understood why. Thalassa was always a bit of an odd bird though, even back in school.” Draco grunted. His mother needed her friends. She should invite them over. That way they could gossip about every woman, girl, man, and child in the country, and Draco wouldn’t be compelled to listen. Draco didn’t have a taste for it. What did he care if Pansy’s mom named her Pansy? He liked her name, anyway.

“Speaking of the Parkinsons, Pansy is a nice girl. Isn’t she? Have you talked much since the ball last year?” Draco stood up.

“Yes. I have to go study. You know, O.W.L.S are this year, and father will disown me if I don’t perform well.” Draco said, only half kidding. He also wanted desperately to escape the conversation.

His mother gave him a sly grin and said, “If you say so. I’ll bring your dessert to the library. I’ve been telling you to get your summer schoolwork done.” Draco began to feel like his mother had perhaps planned to make him so uncomfortable with the conversation, that he retreated to the library to study. His mother was a master manipulator.

Draco begrudgingly went to the library, if only to avoid further conversation about Parkinson. He honestly wouldn’t know what to tell his mother anyway. He liked her well enough, though not as much as he liked his racing broom.

He pulled out his schoolbooks, set them on a desk, and sighed. He would start with potions, something he actually liked. On the corner of the table his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , bound with one of his school ties _,_ twitched threateningly. Sweet Circe and Good Aeëtes, he hoped the Ministry would get rid of Hagrid too. 


	11. Bellatrix (February 1964): Dumbledore's Offer

Bellatrix found that Hogwarts was not an entirely miserable place to spend most of her year. While she certainly did not approve of the wealth of filth that ran through the halls, she quite liked Slytherin house.

One element of her school life, that had thoroughly surprised Bellatrix, was how little she got on with other girls her age. She thought, since she had sisters, she would easily make friends with her female peers. However, this did not prove to be the case. They wanted to sit around in a circle, daintily sipping on tea, gossiping about boys and other girls who weren’t present. Bellatrix was certain they talked about her when she wasn’t with them. She found she had little patience for girls her age and this didn’t change as she got older. She wanted to race across the grounds with the boys her age. She always beat them. She wanted to practice spells and read about Dark Magic in the library. She didn’t have time to sit around and talk like some pathetic little ninny.

She didn’t make friends with the girls in her house, but she made up for it with the friends she found in the boys in her year. Rodolphus was nice, though sometimes, he frightened her a bit. She was also friends with Marcion Rowle and Sinis Travers. The other girls, at first, made jokes about her friendships, but after Bellatrix hexed them, they knew she was someone you simply didn’t mess with.

True to her word, she excelled in all of her classes. She was an excellent witch, and although there were some in her year that beat her, no mudbloods did. Her father was proud of her, as he told in the occasional letters he sent, and Bellatrix felt relieved every time he told her so. If she could keep her father happy, then all would be well.

Narcissa wrote constantly, at least every day.

“Is she writing you again?” Rodolphus sneered. Bellatrix swallowed. She hated it when he made fun of her about her sisters. She could never understand why she didn’t just curse him.

“Yes. Leave. You know better than to go snooping around my mail.” Bellatrix stated coldly, opening her letter and sinking into a black, leather armchair.

“It’s like the fourth time this week. I’ve never seen such foolishness. I wonder your parents allow it.” Bellatrix ignored him and began to read the letter. To her surprise, Rodolphus made no attempt to peer over her shoulder to make out her letter, as was his usual act. 

_Dear Bella,_

_Today, mother bought me a new dress. It is a pretty blue that matches my eyes. I was just thinking how sad it is for Andromeda. If she wants to get a dress to match her eyes, she must wear dark brown, which isn’t a pretty color._

_I am worried that Andromeda might be stupid. She almost never answers Father when he asks us questions in the lessons. I’m answering for her, but I’m worried about her at Hogwarts. When she comes this fall, you will have to help her study._

_Between you and me, Andromeda has been having bad dreams almost every night. Ever since the night of the ball at the Malfoys. Do you think you could write to her? I tried asking her about it, but she won’t talk to me._

_I hope you are having a good day. Why do you only write me twice a week? I send you more letters than that. It isn’t fair. I love you._

_Narcissa._

Bellatrix shook her head. What a childish letter. She reminded herself that Narcissa was still very young. She had to have patience with her. Rodolphus laughed at her expression.

“Bad news?” he said, almost gleefully.

“No. You’ve seen my sister at parties. You know how she is. Terribly immature.”

“She’s what? Eight? Nine? Give her a break.” Sinis said, walking over and sitting by Rodolphus on the couch.

Bellatrix shook her head, sighing. “It’s my own fault, really. I baby her. We all do.”

“She’ll grow up.” Sinis said, turning his head to watch the window, where a school of silver fish swam by.

Bellatrix reached into her school bag and grabbed a quill and parchment, along with her transfiguration textbook to bear down on.

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I’m pleased to hear you got a new dress. Remember, you do not have to write me every time you buy a new article of clothing. I’m sure Andromeda is greatly saddened by the color of her eyes. Send her my condolences._

_As for her work in the lessons, she has always been like that. She isn’t stupid. She is of adequate if not superior intelligence. She is simply stubborn. Keep answering for her. If father doesn’t see a problem, then there isn’t one._

_As for the nightmares, they will pass. The final lesson is always frightening. I didn’t have dreams, but I would be unsurprised if they occur. Tell the house-elf to slip some Dreamless Sleep into her pumpkin juice._

_I write you twice a week. That is the agreement. Don’t tell me you love me. You know the rules._

_Bellatrix._

She sighed and folded the letter up. She would have to stop by the Owlery later. Maybe if she asked nicely, Sinis would drop it by for her. Her hand absentmindedly drifted to run across the scar on her palm. This summer, she would talk to Andromeda. She should have discussed the final lesson with her before she returned for the second term, but she had wanted to give Andromeda space. Andromeda did best when you gave her space.

“How did you hurt yourself?” Rodolphus asked, gesturing to her hand. Bellatrix closed her hand into a fist, shielding the scar from view.

“Aren’t you nosy. I told you not to ask me questions.” Bellatrix fires back. Rodolphus gives her a sardonic smile but says nothing.

“Bellatrix, did you do the Transfiguration essay? Dumbledore will slay me if I don’t get it right. You know how prejudiced he is against our house.” Sinis asked, giving her a pleading look.

“Of course I finished it. Dumbledore is an idiot, but as long as you write exactly what he wants to hear, he hands out good grades like candy. Pass it here. I’ll look over it.” Bellatrix says, thrusting her hand out impatiently.

“My, my. Cheaters amongst us.” Rodolphus said, giving Sinis a glare.

“Didn’t you cheat on the last charms exam?” Marcion said, having just come inside the common room.

“Charms is worthless. Who wouldn’t cheat?” Rodolphus argued, his eyes sliding over to Bellatrix. “Of course, Dear Bella doesn’t cheat.”

“Don’t call me that.” she hissed, shooting to her feet. That was a mistake. She shouldn’t have given him a reaction. It will only encourage him. He gives her a condescending smile, but before he can say anything, she grabs her letter and Sinis’s essay. “I’m going to the Owlery.” she announces, before turning to Sinis, saying, “I’ll read your essay on the way.”

With that, she stormed out of the room. On the walk to the Owlery, she heard a voice call out to her. “Miss Black. Might I have a word?” Great. Dumbledore. Circe and Aeëtes above, make him go away.

She turned to face her professor, reaching a hand up to push her dark curls out of her face. “Yes sir.” she said, her voice carefully blank. She realized she was holding Sinis’s essay, and she roughly stuffed it into the pocket of her robes when Dumbledore turned to lead her to his office.

Once inside, he gestured for her to have a seat. “Have a seat, Miss Black.” Bellatrix sat, eyeing her professor cautiously.

Dumbledore smiled at her and Bellatrix wanted to sneer, but she kept her face impassive. “You are doing remarkably well in my class. One of my best students, you know.” he said, as he sat behind his desk. _Then why am I here_ , Bellatrix wanted to say.

Instead, she said, “Thank you.”

“I wanted to get a chance to speak with you. There is a student in my class, who has been struggling slightly. I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind, helping me out, tutoring the student.” He gave her a small, knowing smile.

“Who is it?” she asked, carefully.

“Does it matter?” Dumbledore asked, his smile turning into a frown. Bellatrix wanted to scoff. He knew very well that it mattered.

“I think I have a right to know who you expect me to devote my time to, sir.”

“Very well. I shall tell you, though I ask you to keep an open mind.” Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing. Bellatrix wanted to crawl away, perhaps hide somewhere. “Her name is Winnie Foster.” A mudblood. Bellatrix shook her head, emphatically.

“No. I don’t have time.” Dumbledore sighed, as if he had been anticipating her answer.

“Are you sure? It would be a wonderful opportunity for both you and her. I have a feeling you may like her more than you expect.” Bellatrix stared at him. He looked at her so differently from the way the other teachers did, who treated her like an ashwinder, ready to catch alight at any moment. He looked at her like he might just believe in her, and for a second, it both thrilled and terrified her. She stifled the feeling immediately. She wasn’t here to play games. She was here for a legacy, to carry her good name. Dumbledore may feel all high and mighty because he got the younger Prewett brother to become a nasty little blood traitor, but Bellatrix wasn’t having it. Not her. Not her family.

“I don’t have to. You can’t make me. Owl my father. See what he has to say. He’ll have you and Dippet out of this school in a heartbeat.” Bellatrix stated, cool fire blazing in her tone. She stood and said, “If you’ll excuse me.” She turned and walked out, half expecting Dumbledore to stop her. She felt a wisp of disappointment when he did not.


	12. Andromeda (June/August 1964): The Strike

Andromeda (June 1964): The Strike

She stood on a mountaintop, overlooking a valley. There is a woman, who is being roughly dragged by a crowd of angry people, who pull at her clothes, shout curses at her, and spit upon her. Andromeda cried out, telling them to stop. They do not. Hands roamed along the woman’s body, groping roughly, until they find what they are looking for; a hand grabbed a thin, wooden stick and snapped it in two, throwing the discarded pieces on the ground.

Andromeda screamed. The woman was not skilled enough in wandless magic, and Andromeda knew it was rare to be so talented.

Andromeda listened to the crowd chant and cheer, calling for, demanding blood. They demand for her to burn.

Andromeda was frozen is place, unable to look away, unable to close her eyes. All she could do was cry and beg the people not to hurt the witch.

The woman is lifted to a stake and wood is piled at her feet. The witch writhed, desperate in her attempt to somehow free herself; it does little. It is impossible. Andromeda watched in horror, as a torch is brought forward, and lowered to the mass of kindling below the stake. The woman screamed, and Andromeda screamed with her.

Andromeda awoke with a start, panting, sweating, crying. She was going to be sick. She leapt from her bed, the sheets stuck to her with sweat, twisted around her legs, causing her to fall on her face with a loud thump. She frantically scrambled up, trying to make it to the washroom. She failed, and collapsed on the carpet, retching and heaving.

Andromeda moaned, the smell of her own sick making her nose wrinkle. Narcissa was already at the door, and upon seeing Andromeda curled next to a puddle of vomit, she shouted for the house-elf.

Trippy was a nervous creature, and upon seeing Andromeda indisposed, she let out a horrid shriek, before snapping her fingers, causing the mess to disappear.

“Andromeda! What happened?” Narcissa asks, kneeling beside her sister, trying to help her up. Andromeda ignores her, and turns over on her side, curled in the fetal position.

The burning is not the only memory she has seen. She watched witches and wizards drowned, and she had seen them hanged, seen them hurt in all manner of ways to get them to confess to that which wasn’t even a crime. She had also seen them deprived of sleep for hours, days, until they were so exhausted, they confessed, or passed out. She has seen more. Things she can’t even name. 

It was horrible. So incredibly horrible. She cannot believe she ever doubted her father.

Narcissa shook her, calling “Andromeda. Andromeda. Would you please get up?” Andromeda pushed herself into a sitting position.

“I need to see father.” Andromeda choked out. Narcissa looked concerned and shook her head.

“Andromeda. It’s four in the morning. Father doesn’t get up until eight. You will have to wait.” Narcissa said, trying in vain to pull Andromeda up. Andromeda shook off her sister and the pushed herself up, heading toward the door. Narcissa grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Don’t wake him. Why don’t we sit together? The house-elf can bring us an early breakfast, and we can try to do some puzzles in the puzzle book Uncle Orion sent us.” Andromeda nodded, mutely. She stood and sat on the bed, while Narcissa ordered breakfast from the house-elf and left to fetch the puzzle book.

When Narcissa returned, Andromeda listened to her sister try to solve the puzzles. She solved a more than Andromeda expected her to, surprising her in how quick her sister was. Her younger sister must not be as vapid as she made herself out to be. Andromeda didn’t eat any breakfast. She was still far too sick.

“Has Bella written you?” Narcissa asked. Andromeda only received a letter from Bellatrix about every two weeks, and it often was nothing more than a few words. She had received one in early spring, telling her to take a Dreamless Sleep potion. She had, for a while. Father cut her off. He didn’t want her becoming dependent.

“Yes. I thought I told you not to go snitching to her about my nightmares.” Andromeda said, turning toward her sister. Narcissa closed the book and gave her a guilty look.

“I’m sorry. You were worrying me, and I didn’t want to tell father.” Narcissa said, softly. Andromeda leaned against the headboard.

“Be careful what you tell her. She’ll snitch to father.” Andromeda warned her sister. Narcissa nodded.

“Okay.” Narcissa was silent a few moments, before tears began to slowly fall down her face. Andromeda sighed. Her sister still managed to look pretty, even when she cried. Andromeda always looked like a mess.

“What? I’m not mad.” Andromeda said, trying not to sound annoyed. Narcissa sniffled.

“It’s not that.” Narcissa buried her head into a pillow and Andromeda sighed.

“Then what?” Narcissa turned to look at her.

“You’re leaving. You’re leaving for Hogwarts and I’ll be here all by myself.” Narcissa said, a pitiful expression on her face.

Andromeda sighed. “You’ll be right behind me. Besides, mother said she would take you see our cousins.” Narcissa groaned.

“No. I don’t like Sirius. He is a brute. His own mother cries almost every night, he upsets her so. And Regulus is a baby.”

“Not those cousins, Narcissa. The Rosiers.” Andromeda said, wrinkling her nose. Sirius was only five, but he already tore up any room he was in for longer than two minutes.

“Oh. Well, they are alright. But, it won’t be the same.” Narcissa complained miserably. Andromeda sighed and looked at her palm, her scar jagged and messy, far worse than Bellatrix’s and Narcissa’s neat white scares.

“No. It won’t.”

* * *

(August 1964)

Andromeda sat in her father’s study, staring at her shoes. Her father was silent, and she could tell he wasn’t happy with her. This didn’t make any sense to Andromeda. She hadn’t done anything.

Her father always treated her as if she were a chaotic accident, just waiting to happen.

“What house will you be sorted into Hm?” her father asked, his voice deathly calm. Andromeda swallowed nervously, her throat feeling like it might close.

“Slytherin.” she answered, clutching the arms of the chair as if it were a lifeline, her nails digging into the wood.

“Good. No exceptions. Do you understand?” her father said, leaning forward over his desk, looming over her.

“Yes, father.” Andromeda said, copying the phrase Bellatrix used so frequently. Bellatrix was home, and it greatly improved her father’s mood. She was hoping his good mood would last until this conversation was over.

“And your marks. You are a Black. Blacks are exemplary witches and wizards, and we expect your marks to reflect that.” her father said, leaning even farther over the desk. Andromeda was worried he might topple over it. “No more of this silent act. When your professors ask you a question, you better have a damn answer!” Her father shouted. Andromeda flinched.

“Yes, father.”

“And stop flinching. You know I hate it!” her father snapped. Andromeda nodded, desperately trying to control her movements.

“Yes, father.” Her father, to her relief, leaned back, satisfied.

“Now. This shouldn’t be an issue, but you are to uphold the values and traditions we have taught you while at school. No daughter of mine will consort with mudbloods and blood-traitors. Do you understand? I won’t have it.”

Andromeda nodded; her throat dry.

“Bellatrix will be watching. You remember the words of the _Praecepta Purissimum_ , yes? Do you remember what happens to blood-traitors?”

Andromeda trembled, slightly. “Yes, father.” Her father seemed mollified and he waved his hand at her, indicating she could leave. Andromeda nearly ran from the room, almost tripping over her father’s ornate carpet imported from Egypt.

Andromeda slowed her steps when she reaches Narcissa’s room, before ducking in. “Hello.” Narcissa greeted her. Andromeda smiled at her, watching as Narcissa showed Bellatrix her puzzle book. Bellatrix looked up and caught Andromeda’s eye, frowning. Andromeda looked away. She had thought Bellatrix would be in the library reading one their father’s books on dark magic. Bellatrix seemed to do a lot of that these days.

“Narcissa. Can you give us a minute?” Bellatrix asked, and Andromeda had to stifle a laugh at Narcissa’s offended look.

“Well fine. I suppose I can.” Narcissa said, turning her head, and giving them a haughty glare.

“Yeah. _I suppose you can._ Scram. We will know if you’re listening outside the door, so don’t try it.” Bellatrix ordered, as Narcissa scowled, taking her puzzle book from the room.

When Narcissa had left, Bellatrix turned to Andromeda, and patted a spot on the bed next to her. Andromeda made her way over and sunk down into the mattress, wishing it could swallow her whole. She imagined falling through it, into another world, where father’s didn’t shout so much, and Hogwarts didn’t seem like an impossibly hard, life or death task.

“Let me guess. Get in Slytherin. Make good marks. Don’t be a mudwallower.” Bellatrix said, laughing. Andromeda felt the pressure in her chest ease slightly. “He gave the same speech to me. Relax. It’s not nearly as hard as he makes it out to be.” Andromeda immediately felt lighter.

“Oh.” She felt relieved. However, there was still one thing that bothered her. “Are there really muggles at Hogwarts? I mean, mudbloods?” Andromeda asked, softly.

“Yeah. Lots of them. It’s disgusting, really.” Bellatrix said, shaking her head. Andromeda felt her skin become clammy.

“Won’t they hurt us?” she asked, tears coming to her eyes. She didn’t want to be hurt like what she had seen in the pensive, like the nightmares that haunted her in her sleep, chasing her with vise-like fingers.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” Bellatrix scoffed.

“But what about the final lesson?” Andromeda asked. Those muggles had looked hatefully furious, frighteningly frenzied.

“Oh. No. No one does anything like that. They kind of just leave us alone. But, that’s because we are far too powerful. They are probably scared of us.”

“Scared of us? We should be scared of them.” whispered Andromeda. Bellatrix slapped her. Hard. It hurt. Andromeda gasped, clutching her cheek, tears springing to her eyes. She looked at Bellatrix, indignant furry in her eyes.

“Don’t be an idiot, Andromeda. It’s not a good look. We should never be scared of them. Ever. Do you understand? They are nothing. Nothing!” Bellatrix shouted.

Andromeda nodded and turned away from Bellatrix, trying to hide her tear-stained face. “Don’t you hit me like that again.” Andromeda said, her voice cold and emotionless.

“I will. If I have to. Don’t give me a reason.” Bellatrix said, as gently but firmly.

“Don’t ever hit Narcissa. If you do, I’ll hurt you.” Andromeda said, coldly.

“I won’t. She doesn’t need me to. You do.” Andromeda scoffed and stood up.

“Father says you’re going to spy on me. Is that true?” Andromeda asked, whirling around to face her sister.

“No. Unless I think I see something I shouldn’t. I won’t, right?” Bellatrix wasn’t angry. Just careful, controlled, and menacing. It made Andromeda feel almost wild, almost out of control. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make the very walls of the manor shake until they came crumbling down. Instead, she turned around and fled the room, racing down the hall, past her mother, who shouted after her. Andromeda flew down the stairs her heart pounding with too many emotions for her to name. She tears out the front door, the heavy oak sliding across the floor as it closes with a bang behind her.

She reached the orchard, panting and gasping for breath. She climbed a tree, and it wasn’t until she reached the top, that she finally stopped, collapsing on a bough, leaning her back against the trunk. She stared up at the sky and wondered, not for the first time in her life, if she had been meant to be born a Black. It seemed to her, a catastrophic mistake.


	13. Narcissa (September 1964): It Simply Isn't Done

The day Andromeda left, Narcissa spent the whole morning crying. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and Andromeda promised to write, lightly smoothing a hand over her hair.

Her father gave her a look but didn’t reprimand her for crying. Her mother promised that she and Narcissa will have lots of fun together, but Narcissa didn’t see how anything will be fun now that both her sisters are gone.

Watching Bellatrix and Andromeda board the train, she sensed an awful tension between them. Narcissa hated it when her sisters fought, and she cannot imagine what they had to be so angry about. She had reminded them sternly of the pact, but she only received tired glances in return.

However, much to her surprise, life at home was not nearly as miserable as she had thought. Her mother and father gave her so much attention, that she hardly felt lonely at all. True to her word, her mother spent lots of time with her, and made sure she spent plenty of time with her cousin Nysa Rosier, who was her age. Nysa always had friends over, like Thalassa Travers and Aspasia Selwyn, who was always followed by Octavia Selwyn, her much younger sister. Narcissa, who had rarely interacted with them, despite seeing them at multiple parties, balls, assemblies, and events, was quite glad to have met them. She would be going into Hogwarts with several friends already made.

Narcissa also enjoyed lessons with her father and he often gave her sweets for answering right. Of course, her mother quickly put a stop to it.

“Cygnus. If she gets fat…” her mother warned. Narcissa frowned. Was she getting fat? She hoped not.

Of course, the dreaded day of the month came when her father’s sister and her husband came to visit.

Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga arrived, on a Saturday morning, and when Narcissa saw them from the window, she wanted to run and hide.

Her mother and father greeted them at the door, and Narcissa walked downstairs slowly, dragging her feet the whole way. Sirius arrived, of course, covered in mud. It seemed he hadn’t been able to stay out of the flowerbeds. He ran to her, giving her a hug, wiping his muddy hands down the side of her dress. When he gave her that wicked grin, she knew he had done it on purpose, his excitement to see her merely a pretense.

Regulus, who looked barely older than three, was standing beside his mother, giving Sirius a look, as if to chastise him for his immaturity.

Aunt Walburga sighed and began massaging her temples. “I am so dreadfully sorry, Narcissa. He is rather feral.”

Narcissa, determined to be gracious, bowed her head and said, “That is quite alright. If you’ll excuse me while I go change, I’ll be down in a moment.”

As she left, she heard Aunt Walburga sigh. “So well-mannered, Druella. And such a pretty, little girl. I’m envious, I’ll admit. She will be quite the young lady soon enough.”

Narcissa smirked. She loved making good impressions, loved when she was admired. She headed upstairs to change and surveyed the dresses in her closet. Finally, she picked out a nice, sensible black satin. If Sirius ruined it during dinner, and she wouldn’t put it past him, it would be no great loss.

When she returned, she found her parents gathered in the parlor, with Sirius sprawled across the carpet, looking incredibly bored. Narcissa hoped she wouldn’t be expected to entertain him. Regulus sat in the corner, reading a book that Narcissa was surprised he could read at his age.

Uncle Orion saw her looking and grinned. “That’s our Regulus. He is quite intelligent, isn’t he?”

Narcissa nodded. “Yes sir. Quite.” Sirius let out a loud groan and began to eye a model of a roman warship her father had, that was on display on the mantle. Narcissa winced. If Sirius broke it, her father would be quite upset.

Cygnus turned to Orion. “It’s good you had sons. I’m afraid the family name will be dying out on my part.” her father joked. Orion grinned.

“Yes, yes. Well, did you hear the news? The Rowle’s left the Wizengamot. They said they just will not stand for old Leach. He is as progressive as they come, and they had finally had enough.” Orion complained. 

Cygnus frowned. “I don’t blame them, but it simply won’t do. That is the last thing we need. Don’t they understand that every time a good family resigns, a family of ill-repute will replace them? I mean, it could be the Weasleys or the Potters for Circe’s sake. Or worse! A mudblood.” Narcissa frowned and bit her lip. That couldn’t be good. She was about to ask her father who the Potters were, when Sirius snapped the mast of the model boat. 

She hurried over. “Sirius! That isn’t a toy.”

“Oh yeah? And how would you know?” he fired back, fixing her with a bold, challenging stare.

“Because I do. Put it down. Can’t you just sit quietly? Look at your brother.” Narcissa tried. This had the opposite effect she had been hoping for. Instead of Sirius backing down, he raised his eyebrows, and snapped off a sail. Narcissa huffed and snatched the boat from his hands.

“I cannot believe you.” she hissed. She crossed the room, and stood on the tip of her toes, stretching to place the model boat on top of a shelf in the bookcase. Sirius sighed and ran over to his brother, probably to bother him. Narcissa went and sat by her parents, settling on to the couch beside her mother, careful to cross her ankles.

“I agree with your point Cygnus. But, I wouldn’t worry. Malfoy said he would take care of it. And you know the Malfoys. They always take care of it.”

“Very true. I wonder what he is planning.” Narcissa heard her father say.

“You never know with Abraxas.” her uncle said, laughing. Narcissa always wondered why her mother and her aunt never spoke. Surely, they had an opinion. But, they both sat, demure and quiet. That wasn’t odd for her mother, but it was odd her aunt. Her Aunt Walburga was almost never quiet, but now that Narcissa thought about it, her Aunt was only gregarious in situations where it was only women. She must be shy around her husband and her brother-in-law. Though, Narcissa couldn’t imagine why. Narcissa was trying to figure out if that should bother or not. She wished Bellatrix or Andromeda were here so she could ask them.

Narcissa turned to look at Sirius who was clearly attempting to get Regulus in on some scheme. Regulus refused to even look up from his book, and kept turning the pages, every so often. Narcissa wondered if he was actually reading, or just pretending.

Later that night, Narcissa walked to her parents’ bedroom, and knocked softly on the door. She hoped her mother would be in there alone and her father would be in his study. When she heard a soft, “Come in.” she sighed in relief. Her mother.

She opened the door and saw her mother sitting in front of the vanity. She walked in and her mother turned around, giving her a soft smile. “Narcissa. It’s been a long time since you’ve come to see me like this.” It’s true. Narcissa used to visit her mother often at night when she was small. She liked to watch her mother comb her hair. Her mother had long, pretty ash-blonde hair, just like her. Her mother’s hair was loose and shiny, floating down over her dressing gown.

“Do you want me to brush your hair?” Narcissa is nine years old, perhaps a little to old to have her mother brush her hair, but she nods her head yes. Her mother glances, a little apprehensively at the door.

“Close the door. So, we can hear it open. In case someone else comes in.” _In case your father comes in._

Narcissa did so and then crossed the room to climb up on the bench next to her mother, looking at herself in the vanity’s looking glass. Her mother picked up an ornate silver brush, with emeralds laid into the handle. “This was a wedding present. I actually got it from your grandmother, Irma, but your father picked it out.” Narcissa liked when her parents talked about each other. Or, rather when her mother talked about her father. Her father never talked about her mother.

“Really?” Narcissa asked. Her mother began to run the brush through her hair.

“Yes. Your father has always been very generous. He gave me this beautiful house, beautiful clothes and jewelry, and of course, a wonderful life for my three beautiful girls.” her mother said, smiling at her in the mirror.

“Do you love him?” Narcissa asked, quietly. Her mother looked startled. That wasn’t a word that was used often in their house. Hardly ever. Narcissa told her sisters that she loved them, but only Andromeda ever said it back, and very rarely. 

Her mother continued brushing her hair and sighed. “Yes. I do. But your father isn’t to hear you say such things. Do you understand?”

Narcissa nodded, and then said, quietly, “Does father love you?” Her mother set down the brush and turned and began braiding Narcissa’s hair, perhaps tugging a little harder than necessary.

“I don’t know. I’ve never asked him. Are you reading those fairy tales again?” Narcissa didn’t answer, but her guilty expression said it all. Her mother exhaled and tied Narcissa’s braid with a blue ribbon. “Uncle Alphard should have never given you that book.” Narcissa was quiet. She loved the book about the princesses, the princes, the knights, and the true love. She was afraid if she said anything, her mother might take it away.

Her mother as if sensing her fear, laughed softly. “There is nothing wrong with reading the book, Narcissa. I just do not want you to harbor false hopes about your future. It is important to remain realistic.” Narcissa looked down at her hands and nodded, trying not to look disappointed. “You are much to young to be worrying about this Narcissa. It was merely a warning. Do not let yourself be carried away in the present with dreams, and there will be no disappointment in the future.”

“Yes mother.” Narcissa said, feeling miserable. There was one other thing she wanted to ask her mother, but she didn’t know if she dared.

Her mother, always intuitive, said, “Is there something else troubling you? There is no need to keep it from me.” _I am not your father._

Narcissa worked up the courage and raised her head to meet her mother’s eyes in the mirror. “Why do you never say anything? When our family gathers? You only talk to Aunt Walburga.” Her mother’s jaw clenched, and she was silent. “Don’t you have an opinion of the Minister? Why not share it?”

“It simply isn’t done. I am not to give my opinion on such things. It hardly matters what I think anyway. It is not my duty, nor am I able to do anything about it.” her mother said, gently. Narcissa still didn’t quite understand. “It isn’t a witch’s place to interject, unless she is asked.”

“Bella is going to struggle with that.” Narcissa commented. Her mother laughed, hard.

“Yes. Your father insisted on raising Bellatrix like a son, and I fear it will impede her in the future. Hopefully, she will learn to hold her tongue.” Her mother lovingly ran her hand over Narcissa’s cheek. “Of course, we don’t have to worry about that with you. You are our little lady.” Narcissa grinned.

“What about Andromeda?” Her mother frowned.

“Your father and I don’t quite know what to make of her. She is so well-guarded that we have trouble reading her.” Narcissa nodded. It was true.

“She wrote me yesterday. She is really happy. She has made lots of friends and she does very well in all her classes.” Narcissa added, to put her mother’s mind at ease. Andromeda had said it was true, and she couldn’t think of a reason why Andromeda would lie to her. Andromeda never lied.

“That is good. I want all of you to be happy. Why don’t you run along? Your father will be coming to bed soon.” Narcissa kissed her mother’s cheek and gracefully leapt off the seat.

That night she got her book of fairytales and hid it in the very back of her wardrobe, where she would not be tempted to read it. She had no use for such things. It was time she grew up.


	14. Astoria (Summer 1994-May 1995): Two Snakes and a Bad Cake

Summer 1994

Astoria was lying on the bed in her hospital room and she was dreaming. The sheets clung to her with sweat and she tossed and turned. She had felt sick all day, so weak and so drained. She shouldn’t have felt this way. She had been transforming regularly and Astoria cannot imagine why her body is rebelling against her so. She finally fell asleep, but now that she had, she was plagued by a disturbing dream.

There was a long dark hallway, in some grand, empty house, that looks long deserted. There was an old man that she passed with a look of horror on his face, and she couldn’t make out what was happening. She was on the ground and she was sliding, slinking across the dusty floor. Her body was long, sleek and smooth. Someone called out for her. She would have to tell him, tell her master that there was an old man listening in the hallway. There was a flash of green light. Dinner. Her dinner.

Suddenly she was in a black expanse, standing on nothing. Everywhere she looked, whether it be up or down, left or right, there was nothing but inky, oppressive, all-consuming blackness.

A whisper cut through the heavy silence, almost like a hiss, “Behind you.”

She turned her head and saw a woman, with long shiny, dark hair, and almond shaped eyes. She wore a pretty blue gown, and she stepped toward Astoria, menacingly. On instinct, Astoria took a step back. She was suddenly very, very afraid. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t right.

“There were two people looking in on that dream tonight, Astoria.” The woman knew her name. “He cannot see you. You cannot see him. Different dream. Different connection.” The woman’s voice sounded as if it was struggling to make words, struggling to form human syllables, and every so often a hiss forced its way through and the woman grimaced, as though her tongue was fighting her.

“What are you talking about?” Astoria whispered, trying to step back. Her feet were suddenly frozen to the floor, her limbs locking. The woman took another step forward.

“We are bound in blood, you and I. We will settle the score. Your ancestors have wronged mine. It’s time I repaid the favor.” All at once the woman was bending back, her body twisting into the form of a great, terrible, snake. Astoria screamed in horror as the beast lunged at her. It was all she could do, to twist in on herself, and in a whirl of feathers, she was flying up and up. Away and away, talons bared, before the blackness collapsed in on her, and she tumbled down, down, down.

Astoria lurched out of bed, eyes wide, chest heaving. A dream. A very bad dream. A wave of nausea hit her, and she struggled and tripped toward the toilet in the bathroom, kneeling before it, heaving and retching, and any food she was able to force down that day came back up. She flushed the toilet and watched the mess disappear. Astoria hoped she was done, and would be able to stand up, but another horrible retching sound comes from the back of her throat. There was something sliding, _slithering_ up past her urethra. Her mouth filled with the taste iron and as _it_ worked its way up and out of her throat and hit the water, Astoria’s eyes widened.

There, in the water, her blood lied on the surface, before it formed a writhing, life-like snake. Astoria screamed and flushed the toilet again, watching the snake of blood whirl away. “Healer Johnson!” she called for him, loudly. She heard footsteps and he came bursting through the door, looking around her room wildly, before he found her in the bathroom, hunched and sobbing.

“Astoria! What happened?” Healer Johnson called out, crouching down beside her. Astoria could not speak. She could not form words. She could only reach for the potions Healer Johnson offered her with trembling hands. A dream. It was only a dream.

* * *

“Callie!” Astoria turned her head, the name now something she responded to on instinct. Rachelle was jogging to catch up to her, Peter in tow.

If one saw Astoria, they would hardly recognize her. She used to be scrawny, her dark hair lank and her eyes dull. Now, she was a good, healthy weight, slender enough, but grateful she no longer looked sickly. Her hair was a dark, thick, full chocolate brown and her dark eyes looked bright and fun. She was no sick, little girl.

She slowed down so her friends could catch up with her. “Happy fourteenth birthday!” Rachelle said, shoving a small, blue box in front of her. Astoria laughed and reached over, grabbing the box, giving her friends a bright smile.

“Thanks guys!” Astoria began to open the box.

“How does it feel to be the oldest girl in second year?” Peter joked. Astoria elbowed him in the side. Peter and Rachelle had turned thirteen last term and for a small time, they had all been the same age.

“Never better.” Astoria grumbled. It was sort of embarrassing to be older than everyone in her year. She was always worried everyone would assume something was wrong with her. Her excuse had always been that she had been too sickly to go her first year. Which wasn’t _entirely_ untrue, but it did make her a year behind in school. She should be finishing up her third year, rather than her second.

Astoria opened the box and found a pretty, leather bracelet. “I picked it out over the holiday break. Peter wanted to get you a book on wand lore, but I said you would prefer something different this year.”

“Thank you! It’s beautiful.” In truth, Astoria would have preferred the book. Wand lore had been something of a hobby of hers ever since the night she got her wand. She liked to study wand woods, wand cores, and of course, powerful wands. She had a little project she was working on, just a small, little endeavor, but she hadn’t told anyone about it. They would all just laugh at her, and Astoria didn’t fancy being ridiculed.

Astoria felt an arm wrap around her. “Well, if it isn’t Callie’s birthday.” Cody. Astoria grinned up at him.

“Yes. Where is my present?” Astoria joked. Cody withdrew from the side-hug and jostled her with his shoulder.

“My, my. Impatient as ever.” Rueben said, strolling up behind them, wearing his Yankees cap, as always.

“Mr. Kaufman. This is the fourth time today I’ve told you to take off that hat! It is not allowed during school hours!” Professor Hardess called, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Riley towered over her, but that made her no less intimidating. “I don’t want to take your hat, Mr. Kaufman. But if you don’t remove it, I’ll be forced to!” Riley groaned and stuffed the hat in his bag.

“Sorry Professor Hard-ass”

“Hardess.”

“That’s what I said.” Professor Hardess narrowed her eyes at him, but seemingly decided it wasn’t worth the fight, because she stormed off into the crowd of students.

“Mr. Kaufman.” Riley turned, looking scared by the new voice that had called his name over the hum of students on their way to class. Professor Birch had appeared around the corner and was glaring down her nose at him.

“Professor Birch! How lovely it is to see you!” he stammered nervously. Astoria was fighting to suppress her giggles. Peter was smirking at his shoelaces.

“I’m going to excuse your slip of the tongue with Professor Hardess just now. It _was_ a slip of the tongue, wasn’t it?” Birch stated, coolly.

“Oh! Uh, er. Well. Yes. Actually. It was. I swear. I’ll be more careful!” Riley was sweating now, rather profusely. Rachelle shook her head.

“See that you do. Johnson, Amato, Ingram. You are supposed to be in my class in ten minutes, yes? See that you’re on time.” Professor Birch gave them each a hard stare before whisking away, leaving Riley leaning against the stone wall, sighing in relief.

“So, Callie. Heard from your pen-pal lately?” Cody asked, eagerly. Everyone turned to look at her. Ah. Her ‘pen-pal’ was Daphne, but she had to have a reason why she wrote someone who lived overseas so often.

Her friends were all very interested in the Tri-Wizard tournament that was taking place at Hogwarts this year, and had followed the first two tasks, rather obsessively.

“Yeah. Um, as far as I know the champions are still preparing for the third task. I think it should be in late June.” Astoria explained, for what felt like the millionth time.

“I can’t believe we weren’t invited. Hogwarts was just afraid we’d kill em.” Cody complained. Astoria snorted.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. They’ve produced some very talented witches and wizards.” Peter remarked. Rachelle snorted.

“Yeah. I’m sure. Wasn’t their last big dark wizard, like, defeated by a baby or something? How embarrassing.” Rachelle said, scathingly. Astoria grew uncomfortable. Healer Johnson had told her a little bit about Britain’s first wizarding war. It wasn’t anything to laugh about. That had been luck. A pure fluke. The world should be incredibly grateful. Rumor said he was unstoppable before that.

“It’s hard to say. Both schools use different tests to measure aptitude, so the two schools aren’t really comparable. All the wizarding schools have different things that make them stand out. I don’t think one is really “better” than the other. I’m sure Hogwarts just invited Drumstrang and Beuxbatons because they were closer.” Astoria said, evenly, if a little defensively.

“Ah, Callie. Ever the diplomat.” Rachelle teased sarcastically. Astoria rolled her eyes.

“Look. The minute I get an update, I swear I’ll tell you. I doubt I’m reporting any news that can’t be found in the paper, anyway.” Astoria waved Cody and Rueben off, before heading to Dueling class. Astoria had excellent grades in this class, but she wondered how much of it was due to any actual talent, and how much she owed to her wand. As if on cue, her wand heated in her hand, itching to be used. Astoria thought she heard a faint whispering. Astoria had once asked Peter if his wand ever whispered to him, but he had given her a strange look that made her regret asking. No good asking Rachelle. She didn’t even use a wand and was the only person in their year who could beat Astoria in a duel.

They had this class with a few Pukwudgies today, and as Astoria, Rachelle, and Peter strode into the room, their friend Mia waved them over. They took a seat at one of the long tables around the edge of the room, the middle of the classroom left completely free, save for a dueling mat to protect against falls.

“Happy Birthday, Callie!” Mia said, giving her a sweet smile.

“Thanks!” Astoria said cheerfully. She was about to ask Mia if she had seen Professor Amica around anywhere, as there was something Astoria wanted to ask her about the Botany assignment, when Professor Birch strode into the classroom. Silence was immediate.

“Good morning. Please take out your wands if you have them, and some quill and parchment.” Professor Birch was very direct, and nearly as strict as Professor Hardess. Astoria always liked Birch, even if she found the woman slightly intimidating. A lot of the teachers at Ilvermorny were intimidating. One just had to get used to it.

Astoria placed her wand on her desk, along with her quill and parchment. “Now. Today, we will be discussing an important aspect of dueling. It is important to be able to read your opponent’s body language and be able to strike first. Look for weakness. You have been dueling each other all of last year and most of this year. What have you learned? What have you noticed?” Professor Birch gave each student in the room an intense look with her sweeping gaze.

“For example, perhaps you have noticed a student that bites their lip, just before they are about to send a hex your way. Maybe you’ve noticed that another always takes a step back before casting a shield charm.” Professor Birch sent a look Peter’s way who shifted uncomfortably. Peter was not the best duelist, though Astoria knew that it was only because he lacked confidence.

“Some of you rely far too much on your wand, expecting it to do the work for you.” Professor Birch caught Astoria’s eye, before looking away.

“Every person you duel, every person you face, has a weakness. It is your job to find theirs, while tempering your own. Look for the tell.” Professor Birch leaned against her desk, giving them all a small smile. Her braids were twisted up into a bun that made her cheekbones sharper and her expression especially fierce. She pulled a piece of parchment from her robes and began to read off a list.

“Now. I need everyone to line up. I want Amato with Rodriguez, Joseph and Clarke, Martinez and Rolle, Johnson and Ingram—”

Professor Birch continued reading off her list as Rachelle grinned at Astoria. They had dueled each other ten times this year, and Rachelle had won seven of those times; Astoria was determined to win today. Rachelle pulled a hair-tie off her wrist and tied up her thick curls, winking at Astoria. Astoria gave Rachelle a mock glare, dragging her finger across her throat. Rachelle rolled her eyes. Peter laughed nervously, but his eyes were on Mia. Astoria could tell he was anxious about dueling Mia; she was one of the fiercer duelers in the class, and sweet as though she was, she didn’t play.

Professor Birch called the pairs up, one by one, and when it was Peter and Mia’s turn, Peter swallowed nervously. Astoria gave Peter and encouraging smile and he offered a feeble one in return.

Peter had become one of her closest friends and she couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He felt a lot of pressure to live up to his brother and was constantly trying to set himself apart. Sonny was an excellent dueler, and Peter took that as a direct challenge. As he walked to the center of the classroom, he looked a little green.

Peter stepped forward and so did Mia.

“Name your seconds.” Professor Birch intoned, although it was merely a formality at this point. No one would actually take over for anyone, as no one planned on dying. Not in the classroom, at least. Professor Birch was merely trying to teach them the rules.

Mia gestured to her friend. “Rebecca.”

Peter glanced between Rachelle and Astoria. “Callie. Because it’s your birthday.” he said, laughing nervously. Astoria grinned at him and Rachelle shook her head in mock disgust.

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” Rachelle said, forlornly, giving both Peter and Callie a devious smirk.

“Bow to your opponents.” Professor Birch ordered. Peter bowed and Mia did the same, giving Peter and encouraging smile. “Begin!”

Mia pointed her wand and shouted “ _Stupefy!_ ”, barely giving Peter enough time to dodge out of the line of fire.

Peter readied his own wand, shouting “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Mia’s wand gave a feeble jerk, but nothing more. Astoria frowned. Peter had practiced this spell before, and he should know it. Something about dueling always made him nervous. He had excellent grades in all of his other classes, but this class always got the best of him.

Mia barely flinched at Peter’s attempt to disarm her, and fired another stunning spell at Peter, which hit him squarely in the chest. Peter was thrown backward against the mat and Rachelle groaned at the sight.

“We worked with him on this last night. He knows what to do.” she whispered to Astoria, shaking her head. Astoria nodded. It was true. Rachelle and her both had practiced relentlessly with Peter.

“Dueling just isn’t his thing. Relax! You know how good he is at other subjects. No one can out do him in Charms.” Astoria said, rushing to his defense. Astoria loved Rachelle, but she could be pushy. A strong personality like hers tended to trample someone like Peter. Rachelle bit her lip.

“I don’t know why the statues put him in Wampus—”

“Rachelle!” Astoria admonished. “Don’t you dare say anything like that to him. He’s sensitive about it enough already. I don’t want him to resort and neither do you. So, shut it.” Rachelle gave her a guilty look.

“Sorry.” she whispered. Peter struggled to his feet, his cheeks flaming. He went back to his seat, ignoring the whispers from the other member of their house. Rachelle though, in a way that made her positively wonderful in Astoria’s opinion, gave Peter a large, brilliant smile, as if he had the duel of a lifetime.

“Peter, that so much better! You dodged her first attack so fast!” Rachelle told him, excitedly. “We can work on it some more later. By the end of the term, you’ll be the best dueler in Wampus.”

Peter gave her a shy, grateful smile, and turned to Astoria. “Well, Callie. That could have gone better.” Astoria shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter Peter. Really. Rachelle and I were impressed. The disarming spell would have worked, you just got nervous.” Peter barely acknowledged her comment and began staring at his Nikes.

“Well done, Rodriguez, Amato. Remember Miss Rodriguez. Try not to duplicate the same spell twice in a row. A more experienced duelist will not be fooled by your lack of variation. Amato, if you do not believe the spell will work, trust me. It won’t.” Peter scowled but nodded his head.

“Alright. I want Ingram and Johnson up to the mat.” Astoria and Rachelle smiled at each other, before walking up, standing on opposite sides of the makeshift arena.

“Name your seconds.” Professor Birch called.

Rachelle, probably still feeling guilty about her comment earlier, said, her voice sure, “Peter.”, ignoring the deriding laughs from the students. Astoria scanned the room and spotted another Wampus she knew fairly well, Spencer Beck.

“Spencer?” she asked. Spencer jumped slightly, as though he was surprised at being asked, but he nodded. Astoria grinned. “Awesome.”

“Bow.” Professor Birch commanded. Astoria bowed, placing her hand on the hilt of her wand, enjoying the heat of the magic pressed into her hand. She heard a faint whispering in her ear, and she grinned. Rachelle’s arms tensed having no wand to grab for.

“Begin.” Professor Birch shouted.

“ _Expelliarums!_ ” Rachelle shouted. Astoria ducked instantly, knowing Rachelle always fired first. She easily avoided Rachelle’s disarming attempt, and pointed her wand, shouting “ _Scandilimus!_ ” Her wand twitched in her hand, as if it was disappointed in her choice of spell, a simple trip jinx, but sent a powerful blast Rachelle’s way, one she had to throw herself to the ground to avoid.

Rachelle frowned, and furrowed her brow, before drawing back her hand, sending a powerful stunning spell barreling straight for Astoria. Astoria pointed her wand, shouting “ _Protego!_ ” The spell worked, but Astoria stumbled back, the spell crashing into her shield with surprising force.

She heard it, a faint whisper in her ear, a series of words, soft and inviting. On instinct, Astoria shouted the words that were breathed into her ear, so lovingly. “ _Serpensortium!_ ” A long viper shot from the end of her wand and darted straight toward Rachelle.

“Miss Johnson!” Professor Birch shouted.

Rachelle gasped and backed up against the wall. “Stupefy!” she shouted, throwing the spell forward by pushing out with the palm of her hand. The snake was thrown backward, the creature now effectively out of commission. Rachelle turned toward her angrily. Astoria was staring at the stunned snake, horrified.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Rachelle shouted. Astoria’s wand was thrown out of her hand, almost burning her, as if it was angry she has been defeated. Astoria reached down, grabbing her wand, holding her burning hand to her chest. Rachelle glared at her, clearly furious. “What the hell, Callie!”

“I’m sorry. I just—” What could she say? That her wand told her to use the spell? Unlikely. She had no choice but to lie. Again. “I read it in a book, okay? I had no idea what it would do!” Astoria tried, turning to Professor Birch, pleading. Rachelle scoffed, rolling her eyes. Astoria felt horrible! Who tried a spell they didn’t know the effects of? It was inexcusable.

“Rachelle. I am so sorry. You know I wouldn’t!” Astoria tried again, desperately. Rachelle gave Astoria a fierce look.

“I think it’s clear who won the duel, Professor Birch.” Rachelle said, icily, as she took her seat, making Peter move down one so she wouldn’t have to sit next to Astoria.

“See me after class, Miss Johnson. The rest of you are dismissed.” The other students were giving her funny looks as she passed, and Peter gave her a sympathetic smile. Rachelle wouldn’t even look at her. Astoria felt dreadful. She slowly walked to Professor Birch’s desk.

“Miss Johnson. What on earth were you thinking? Surely you know that at Ilvermorny, we do not tolerate that sort of behavior! You never use a spell unless you are explicitly aware of what it does in its entirety! I will be discussing this with Professor Hook.” Tears sprang to Astoria’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I swear, I don’t know what came over me—” Astoria began, her voice wobbling.

“I must say. I am quite surprised. You have always been a calculated duelist! You never make spur of the moment decisions like that! That is much more Mrs. Ingram’s style.” It was true. It was what had always caused Rachelle to beat Astoria in the past. Astoria had always been a very talented, but very cautious duelist. She hung her head in shame.

“Listen. No harm was done. There will be detention, obviously. I will have to report the situation to Professor Hook and to Headmistress Mask.” Seeing Astoria’s panicked expression, she continued. “I doubt she will call you in to see her, especially since I and Professor Hook will have handled it.” Astoria sighed in relief. She reached up to wipe tears from her eyes.

“Miss Johnson. I do not reprimand you to inspire feelings of guilt. You are young and learning magic. Mistakes will happen. No real harm was done. I just need you to understand the severity of using spells you do not know the effects of.” Professor Birch said, tone slightly softer. Astoria nodded. “Now, I believe you have Potions in a few minutes. You don’t want to keep Professor Hardess waiting.” No. Astoria _definitely_ did not.

As she raced down the long hallways, towards where the Potions’ classrooms were, she nearly ran into Professor Spaulding, a Potions professor for the fourth- and fifth-year students. She smiled apologetically. As she reached Professor Hardess’s room, she groaned. It was locked. She knocked on the door, preparing herself for the lecture on punctuality she was undoubtedly about to receive. Professor Hardess hated tardiness.

Professor Hardess opened the door and gave Astoria a hard look. “Come in. Mr. Amato informed me that you were discussing something with Professor Birch. Your tardiness is excused.” Astoria sighed gratefully.

“Thank you, Professor.” she said, glumly. She walked in the classroom, to find the table she normally sat, with Peter occupying the seat usually held by Rachelle. Rachelle was sitting with Spencer, where Peter normally sat. Peter gave her an apologetic smile and gestured to the seat next to him. Astoria took it, huffing. “Thanks for talking to Hardess.” she murmured.

“No problem. What did Birch say?”

“I got a lecture and detention. Both well deserved. She is talking to Hook and Mask, but she says Mask isn’t going to take further action.” Astoria said, miserably.

“It’s okay, Callie. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Rachelle’s overreacting a bit.” Peter said, quietly. Astoria shrugged.

“Now. You are in luck Miss Johnson. We hadn’t started yet. I was just discussing everyone’s Flobberworm essays. They were…alright. As always, if your grade is not to your liking, you may come to me and we can discuss ways to improve it.” Professor Hardess said, as she began to pass out the essays. Astoria groaned. Ilvermorny provided a wonderful education in nearly all areas, even surpassing some schools in areas like Ancient Runes, and equal to most wizarding schools in almost every aspect. But, in recent years, the Potions department was experiencing a bit of an issue. Headmistress Mask had called Hardess in just three years ago, from her position as a Potion’s Master for Canada’s Auror department. She was improving things. Slowly, but surely. All the student’s in their class last year had Professor Mildew, who was a dismal teacher; they were struggling to recover from how behind they were. He had been fired for slipping Veritaserum in students’ drinks to catch cheaters last year. No one had been sad to see him go.

Professor Hardess placed Astoria’s essay face down. She groaned. Peter sniffed at his essay. She glanced at his. Not bad. Astoria lifted the very corner of her essay, slowly pulling it up to reveal…a barely passing grade. How miserable. Her parents would never let her come home at this rate.

Peter glanced at her. “I’ll help you study. We can hit the library next week. Not tonight though. It’s your birthday.” Peter bumped her shoulder with his and she smiled at him. Maybe if Rachelle had done poorly on the essay, they could bond over their mutual misfortune.

“Again, some of you may be unhappy with your grades. Please come by my office at any time during school hours to discuss it with me. I’ll be more than happy to let you redo the assignment.” Professor Hardess offered. Astoria shook her head. If Hardess was offering redoes, the class must have flopped.  
“Now. Let’s review the Wiggenwald Potion. Or, if Professor Mildew didn’t cover it, then I suppose we will be learning it today.”

Peter left to gather the ingredients and Astoria groaned. Her muscles were itching and sore, and her bones felt as if they were pushing against her skin. She would have to sneak away to transform either late tonight or tomorrow morning if she didn’t want to get sick. Otherwise, she’d be too weak to get out of bed soon enough.

After a reasonably successful potions class, when Professor Hardess dismissed them, Rachelle left the class in a hurry, avoiding both Astoria and Peter. Peter sighed. “If you want to catch up to her, you can.” Astoria offered. Peter shook his head.

“Nah. I’m good. She’ll be over it soon. Not everyone can be like you, Callie.” Astoria looked at him, slightly startled.

“Like me?”

“Yeah. So quick to forgive. I mean, you forgive everyone no matter what, even if they were a complete jerk. I’ve never seen you hold a grudge. Rachelle just needs some time to stew. She’ll be over it soon.” Astoria shrugged. She supposed Peter was right. Astoria was glad that Hook’s class was at the end of the day. She was dreading facing him after her performance in Dueling.

They walked outside, heading toward the Greenhouses. Professor Amica was at the door, greeting everyone as they walked in. “Hi y’all!” she said cheerfully, nodding toward Peter and Astoria. During Botany, Rachelle wouldn’t look at her, and Astoria was beginning to wonder if she ever would. Astoria felt terrible about the whole situation, and Rachelle’s cold shoulder was making it so much worse.

“You can’t leave Wampus now. You’re my only friend left.” Astoria jokingly told Peter, as he poured dirt into a faded, ceramic pot.

“That’s ridiculous Callie. You have tons of friends.” Astoria shrugged. She did, but not close, intimate friendships. Of course, how close could the friendships be if you lied at every turn. 

“Not any as good as you and Rachelle.” Peter shrugged, but she could tell he was pleased.

Peter was quiet a moment, before he said “Listen. You know how my brother can be a real jerk sometimes?” Astoria nodded turning towards Peter. He rarely talked about Sonny.

“Well, he’s started dating that Picquery girl. You know, the one who doesn’t like you.” Astoria groaned.

“The one with the President for the Grandmother.” Astoria asked, playfully.

“Former President.” Peter joked, playing along. Astoria smirked. Helena Picquery never let anyone forget her connections. They had gotten into a row over a book in the library last year, about who saw it first and what not. It had been rather childish, in Astoria’s opinion. But Helena had started a duel, and Astoria won. Helena had never quite forgotten it, though Astoria did all she could to stay out of his way. Getting beat by a first year hadn’t been good for Helena’s pride.

“Well, listen. She, er. Well. She was visiting the MACUSA headquarters and looked you up. I guess she was just messing around in the records office, trying to find something funny.” Astoria’s blood ran cold. “She didn’t find anything, but. That’s just it. There was no record of any American citizen named Callie Johnson. She’s going around, telling everyone that you’re some sort of spy from Russia or something.” Astoria snorted. She wondered if the great Madame President knew what an idiot her granddaughter was.

Of course, the hilarity of the accusation was enough to make her start to sweat. Technically, she was an approved guest. The MACUSA knew that some rich British family had dumped their daughter in America, though they likely didn’t know why. Headmistress Mask knew that for personal reasons, she chose to keep her identity private. But, Astoria didn’t want, and couldn’t have people poking around her name. If her parents got wind that people knew her real identity, well, she might be locked away in the Hospital forever.

“Callie? Are you okay?” Peter asked. Astoria was startled from her train of thought.

“Yeah. Fine.” came her strangled reply.

“Oh, relax Callie. I mean, the MACUSA probably just lost your file or something. Or, she just missed your name. No one is actually going to think you’re a Russian spy.” Peter assured. Astoria gave him a stiff nod. She should write Healer Johnson about it anyway. Maybe he could write the school and get Helena got keep her mouth shut. Astoria was so worried about Helena and Rachelle, she didn’t remember she was supposed to talk to Professor Amica about the Botany assignment.

Botany was finally over, and Astoria and Peter began the much-dreaded walk to what was usually Astoria’s favorite class, Magical History. Last year, they had covered early North American Wizarding history, and this year they were going over modern North American Wizarding History.

Professor Hook wasn’t wearing robes today. He was in casual pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt from the wizarding rock band the “Dastardly Doxies.” He caught Astoria’s eye and gave her a stern look. Astoria practically wilted. She couldn’t stand when others were angry with her. Professor Hook must have seen her despondent expression because he gave her a reassuring wink.

“Take your seats, guys.” He instructed, before taking a seat his on a huge Abraxan saddle, one he had gotten on his travels to France last year. He was extremely proud of it. “Alright. So, yesterday, we were discussing the rise of Grindelwald. Now we will cover this again next term, especially once we get into European History. But, I think it’s important we have this discussion. Who can tell me why people joined Grindelwald? I know we don't have a lot of context yet, but what I really want to focus on today, is more magical ethics.” There is a heavy silence in the room.

“No one? Come on, take a stab at it. How does someone get nearly half the wizarding population of the Western World to side with him? What is it?”

Jamie Wilkinson, a Thunderbird, shrugged. “Because they’re evil. I mean, if you join up with Dark Wizards, that’s why. You’re dark. Why would you fight for a cause like that if you weren’t evil.” Several students nod their heads. Some frown, but not many.

Professor Hook nods his head, although not necessarily in agreement. “Alright. I mean, I think that’s a fair perspective. Does anyone disagree?”

Rachelle shrugged. “I mean, what about power? He was offering unlimited access to Dark Magic. _Some people_ might be into that sort of thing.” Rachelle said, pointedly. Astoria sunk low into her seat.

“Sure. I think that might be true. Although, let’s think about that for a minute. What _is_ dark magic?” Silence. “Oh, come on guys. Think. What is it? Take a shot.” Hook said, leaning back.

“Magic that’s bad.” Spencer offered, smirking slightly, earning a snort from some classmates. Hook grinned.

“Alright. Magic that’s bad. I mean, I won’t argue. That is true. But, what constitutes as bad magic, or what counts as magic that we shouldn’t use?” Professor Hook met each and every students’ eyes. 

“Magic that hurts people.” Peter tried, sounding a little unsure. Professor Hook gave Peter a wide grin.

“Yes! Okay, now we are getting somewhere! Okay people. Magic that hurts others. That’s bad, right? So, if you are in a duel, and someone is trying to harm you, and you harm them, self-defense, let’s say, is that dark magic?” The students stare at each other. If Astoria could hear everyone’s thoughts, they would likely be “Uhhhhhhh.”

“No. If someone tries to hurt you, all bets are off, right? I mean, if someone is attacking with the intent of serious harm, what are we supposed to do? Disarm them? Stun them? That only goes so far.” Astoria spoke, earning a couple of surprised gasps.

Professor Hook smiled. “No, no. It’s alright. Miss Johnson is brave enough to say what many of you won’t. And, just so we are aware, many very talented, good, witches and wizards think the same. Several wizards and witches have used dark magic. They have used curses, hexes, jinxes and many other forms of magic that is highly questionable, in the name of a good cause. In fact, that was Grindelwald’s catchphrase. “For the greater good.’

Astoria squirmed slightly in her seat. Professor Hook eyed her. “Now, Miss Johnson. Our brave, if perhaps a little unwilling, volunteer. Let me ask you this. Is there such a thing as Dark Magic?”

Astoria frowned, and was silent for a few moments. “Perhaps…” she started, a little unsurely. Professor Hook gave her an encouraging smile. “Perhaps, it’s not the magic. It’s whoever wields the magic. So, if you are someone who intends to use the magic to do something that is morally wrong, that’s what makes a dark wizard. Not the magic, itself.”

Professor Hook grinned. “Alright! Now that is a great point! What do we think, class?” Rachelle raised her hand. “Hit us with it, Ingram.”

“What about the Cruciatus curse? Or the Imperius curse? I can’t think of one example where it would be alright to use those.” Rachelle says, strongly. Astoria shrinks down in her seat. Of course, she hadn’t meant _those._ There is a heavy, uncomfortable silence at the mention of _those curses_. The MACUSA calls them the DPI curses. Death Penalty Imminent. There was no playing around with those.

“Miss Johnson?” Professor Hook asks. Uhhhh. Astoria swallows nervously.

“Okay. Well, I have to agree. I think, which is what makes things like this so difficult, that there is a grey area. There just isn’t going to be one right answer. People and Magic are neither a hundred percent good, or a hundred percent bad. You just have to look at the situation and make the best judgement call you can.” Professor Hook grinned at her.

“And there we have it. The right answer is…well. Who knows? I mean, let’s be honest. Who really knows? We have laws and societal rules that govern us, but who is to say those are right? And, Ingram is correct. What excuse is there for casting a curse, whose sole purpose is to give someone unbearable amounts of pain? Most wouldn’t wish that on their worst enemy. But, Johnson is also correct. I can’t completely, totally, without a shadow of a doubt, tell you that there will never be a situation in which it is appropriate to cast it. As we will study later, especially when looking at Britain—”

Astoria perked up. She always did when Britain was mentioned.

“They had some cases in their last big wizarding war, where people were told at threat of death to cast the Cruciatus curse on someone? Are they responsible? Or is the person who forced them responsible? Should they have been brave enough to refuse? If they aren’t, is that really something evil, or just human?” Professor Hook finished, and Astoria’s mind spun, trying to derive an answer.

“Alright. Well, I planned to cover this topic over the next couple days. For homework, just write me a paragraph about _what you think_. I need you to read Grindelwald’s speech that he gave at his Paris Rally. We will be discussing it next class. I’ll let everyone go. Have a great day.” Astoria jumped up, hoping to rush out the door before Professor Hook could catch her.

“Miss Johnson. A word?” Damn. Astoria stopped. Peter gave her a sympathetic look.

“See you at dinner. I’ll talk to Rachelle.” Peter assured. Astoria watched him go, before walking towards Hook’s desk.

“Johnson. Have a seat.” Professor Hook got up and gestured to his saddle. Astoria sat in it, though it dwarfed her. Hook leaned against his desk. “I hear you’re a dark witch now, Johnson.” Astoria nodded her head, slightly disarmed at his attempt at humor. “A snake?”

“Only a tiny one. It was an accident.” Astoria whispered. “I feel terrible. I mean, I didn’t realize what the spell did. I swear, I just got excited. It wasn’t—” Astoria stopped. That wasn’t necessarily true. She had heard the whisper; she had trusted her wand. She made a calculated decision that it was worth the risk. And that made it so much worse.

“Callie?” Professor Hook asked softly.

“If I told you that my wand whispered to me, and that sometimes I listen to it, would you call me crazy?” Astoria asked. Professor Hook looked at her for a few moments.

“I’d say that’s a little crazy. And a little dangerous.” Professor Hook said, quietly. “I’d also say, that it wouldn’t be completely unheard of. Wands sometimes act of their own accord. If a wand has formed a very deep connection with its master, then I would say that it’s possible.” Astoria didn’t say anything.

“I’d also say, that it probably wouldn’t be wise to trust everything a stick of wood says. You are supposed to work with your wand, not let it control you. It’s a partnership. Not a guiding force.” Astoria nodded, feeling a little better.

“I talked to Professor Birch. I’ll handle your detention.” Astoria sighed in relief. Professor Hook was not nearly as bad as Birch.

“You can come and see me tomorrow.” Astoria looked toward him surprise.

“Not tonight?” Professor Hook shook his head.

“No. I have a date. Plus, I think you might have plans. So, tomorrow. But only because it’s your first offence, okay?” Astoria enthusiastically agreed, hardly believing her good fortune. She bounded out of the classroom before Hook could change his mind.

It would be fine! She would find Rachelle, apologize again, and everything would be okay. She darted to the Wampus dorms and stopped when she reached the common area. Cody and Riley were standing in the corner, arguing with each other about the next Quodpot game, and Rachelle and Peter were sitting together, talking urgently. Astoria walked up to them.

“Shouldn’t you be in detention?” Rachelle accused. Astoria winced.

“Hook said he’d do it tomorrow. Says he had a date.” Rachelle sniffed, turning her head.

“Rachelle—"

“No, Callie! I can’t believe this! I can’t believe winning a duel was more important than my safety! I’m your friend! I know that we have a bit of a rivalry going on, but for you to jeopardize my welfare over it? Come on!” Peter winced and looked at his shoes.

Astoria sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I want you to know, that I had no idea what the curse did. I swear. Alright? You have every right to be upset, I just hope you’ll forgive me.” Astoria pleaded, sitting down on a blue, velvet couch. Cody and Riley glanced over but they didn’t interfere.

Rachelle considered her for a minute. “Yeah, okay. But you know what I think is so weird? Your wand.”

“That’s ridiculous!” said Astoria defensively, her hand going over her wand.

“No, it’s not. Astoria, that wand is crazy. I’ve dueled everyone in our class, and no one’s spells have the same force or power. It’s insane. I know that you’re a talented witch, but come one. You’ve been studying magic for two years. There is no way your spells should have that kind of force!” Rachelle was now standing and takes a step towards Astoria.

“Rachelle!” Astoria scoffed.

“Yeah. Come on. What are you even saying? Her wands too good? Relax.” Peter tried. Rachelle sent a withering glare his way, before rounding back on her.

“Yes! I’m saying her wand is so much more powerful than anyone else’s. Yes. And, I think it’s not enough for her!”

“What?” Astoria said, jumping to her feet. Peter stood, trying to get in between them.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Astoria. You don’t just like to study wand lore. You like to study powerful wands.” Astoria flushes with embarrassment. Rachelle continues, voice rising. Astoria is grateful the common area isn’t crowded. “You read that stupid book of English fairytales all the time, probably have the thing memorized! Beedle the Bard? And not the mention all the wizarding history books!”

“Shut up.” Astoria said. Peter threw her a sympathetic look.

“Rachelle. Come on. Leave her alone. It’s not a big deal!” Peter looked desperate.

“No, Peter. She reads book after book about powerful wands. She is trying to find the Elder Wand. I saw her notes! I saw them, and she is tracking that wand down.”

“I am not!” Astoria lied, fighting back tears.

“Yes. You are. I think you want it! I think you’ve gotten a taste of power, and you’re going after it. At first, I thought it was just a hobby, an interest. But no. You are trying to find it! And, I think you want to use it!” Peter was silent. Rachelle was breathing hard, and Astoria was crying.

“No. Okay? I just. Fine! I wanted to find it, to track it down. I wanted to talk to the owner, if there even is one! But, I’m not even sure the wand is real! It’s purely an academic interest! I swear, Rachelle.”

“Why hide it?” she asks, a little softer.

“Because it’s embarrassing alright? I mean, you’re right. Most people think it’s a fairytale. If I said I thought it was real, you all would laugh at me!”

Rachelle didn’t say anything. Peter just stared at her, a little stunned. Astoria swallowed hard, fighting back tears, before standing.

“I’m going to the library.” Astoria turned and hurried out of the room. She thought she would go to dinner, but she suddenly wasn’t very hungry.

Ilvermorny’s library was massive, and Astoria loved it. It was quiet, bright, spacious, and a very good place for a cry. Astoria found a small reading nook, and sits down, eyes blurring. Great. Her friends would be just like her family; they would get tired of her and not want anything to do with her ever again. Astoria wondered, why she was never enough for anyone to want her. She always messed everything up, and here she was, doing it again. Astoria was starting to believe she was cursed in more ways than one.

It wasn’t long, before her tears had dried, and her face was no longer puffy and swollen. Astoria was considering ways to heal her friendships. Healer Johnson had always told her that when things are broken, focus on the fixable, rather than the unfixable. Maybe she could promise to never, ever, read about wands again. The truth was, ever since she got her wand, she had been interested in regular wands, powerful wands, but especially the Elder Wand. If she could talk to the owner, maybe she could ask how to control a wand so powerful. There had to be a way for her to keep her wand, and not hurt others around her. Sadly, she was failing miserably so far.

Suddenly, a voice called out “Hey! Callie!” Astoria turned toward it, and her stomach dropped. Helena. Helena was flanked by a group of friends who were eyeing her suspiciously. “I’ve got a question for you.” she said, smug.

“I’ve got an answer.” Astoria said, coolly. She prayed she did.

“Do you know what’s so interesting?” Helena asked, looking like she was a cat cornering a mouse.

“Is that the question?” Astoria asked, sarcastically.

“No. A woman came up to me, and she told me to check you out. Said you were suspicious. And so, I thought I would oblige. I was looking through the records at the MACUSA headquarters. You know, I have clearance for that sort of thing.” Helena most definitely did not.

“Looking? All for me? That’s a little obsessive. And anyway, you _don’t_ have clearance. You are encroaching on my right to privacy!” Astoria argued, furious at the absolute audacity this girl had!

“I’m not sure you should be afforded rights. There was no record of any Callie Johnson. You don’t exist!”

“Pretty sure I do. I’m standing right here.” Astoria brushed off. “You said someone told you I was suspicious. Who?” Astoria asked.

“I don’t know. Her name was weird sounding. Digger? I can’t remember. That’s not the point.” Helena said, crossing her arms.

“What exactly is your point?” Astoria prodded, fearing the answer and desperately trying not to show it.

“I don’t think your name is Callie Johnson!” Helena declared, proudly.

“And what would my name be?” Astoria asked, tone unbothered, but heart racing.

“I don’t know. At first, I thought you might be some sort of spy. But, I was asking around. Apparently, your dad, if he is your dad, is a Healer at that hospital for freaks.” Helena gave Astoria a nasty smirk.

“Shut up.” Astoria whispered, feeling like she might faint.

“Oh? Struck a nerve? Perhaps you’re a freak yourself. Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, you do know what happens to freaks right? It would explain the fake name. You would have to hide! Like, haven’t you heard of the Circus Arcanum, The Menagerie, The Hippodrome?”

Astoria was quiet. No. She hadn’t.

“They take freaks. Take them away in the dead of night. Sell them for a whole bunch of money. Keep them for entertainment. That would be awful. If you were a freak. I hear creepy old men like to visit—”

Whatever Helena might have said is cut off by a blast of powerful magic. She tumbled into a bookshelf, cracking her head against the wood. Her friends shriek and make false, cooing noise, hovering to help her. Rachelle is standing behind her, palm outstretched, looking smug.

Rachelle steps around Helena and grabs Astoria’s hand, leading her away. “Come on. Let’s split before Helena goes crying to a teacher.” Astoria can hardly breathe. Her mind was still reeling from Helena’s words.

“Can you believe all that junk she was saying? Nobody believes her anyway, Callie. I mean, come on. Like, what? She was threatening you with kidnap by circus?” Rachelle shook her head. “Wonder what ol’ Grandma Picquery would say if she knew what an awful person her granddaughter is. I mean, seriously? What an awful thing to joke about.” Astoria didn’t say anything, happy to let Rachelle talk.

When she got back, she discovered her friends had, in an effort to make up for her horrible birthday, baked a cake the no-maj way. It tasted absolutely horrible, and they all had a good laugh.

“Rachelle! Your dad is a no-maj! You should know!” Peter argued.

“Not all no-majs are good bakers! Cody mixed up the salt and sugar! How is that _my_ fault?” Astoria just shook her head. At least, everyone was alright. Rachelle and her exchanged tearful apologies, and Peter looked very uncomfortable with all the crying, and very relieved that everyone was friends again.

That night, Astoria wrote a letter to Daphne.

_Daphne,_

_Thank you for sending me the Potter Stinks badges. My friends thought they were very funny, although I must admit, we don’t quite understand the difference between the “real” and “not-real” Hogwarts Champion. But, to make you happy, we will cheer for Cedric. My friends are all very fascinated with the tournament, so do send any inside scoop. I did want to tell you that I found out something today. I don’t want to say too much in the letter, so you will have to look these up on your own. But, Circus Arcanum, Menagerie, and Hippodrome. Again, I know it’s hard for you, but try not to go squealing to Mother and Father on this one. I think it could be something bad._

_I loved hearing about your Yule Ball date. Blaise sounds very dashing. I’m sorry I haven’t written you in a while, but I’ve been extremely busy. I can’t wait for your visit this summer! Bring the sugared butter-fly wings from that shop in…I forgot what you called it…Hogspeed? Well, anyway. I miss and love you._

Astoria didn’t sign the letter. Daphne would know who it was from. She wrote to Healer Johnson to, about what Helena had said. Perhaps writing Daphne had not been the best course of action, but, if she was suddenly kidnapped by some raging circus, she would want her sister to know.

There was no point in worrying anymore about it tonight.


	15. Astoria (June 25th, 1995) He's back

June 25th 1995

Wampus had just won the Quodpot Cup, in the final game of the season, and that night in the Wampus common area, there was a very loud, very large, very rambunctious party going on, that Professor Hook was no doubt pretending he couldn’t hear. Cody, much to Sonny’s displeasure, had been labeled the hero of the game, and as the crowd swayed to a hip-hop song Astoria didn’t recognize, Cody was lifted on everyone’s shoulder. Astoria shook her head. His ego would be the size of the sun tomorrow.

Rachelle was dancing, pulling Astoria after her. “Come on Callie! Dance!” Astoria shrugged her shoulders, and did so, grinning at the Quodpot Championship Cup that was made to levitate in a large circle around the room. Peter eyed her and Rachelle from the corner, shaking his head sarcastically.

Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria saw Daphne’s barn owl, tapping insistently against the window. She walked off and opened the window, taking the letter. The barn owl usually stayed, but this time, it flew off quickly.

Cody spotted her and shouted “Hey! Callie’s pen-pal wrote! I bet it has the results from the tournament! Read it!” Astoria smirked and opened the letter.

_A,_

_He’s back. You-know-who is back. Potter claims that he attacked both him and Diggory at the final task. Diggory is dead. Stay quiet, stay careful. No one knows if it’s true or not. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted. I’m okay. I doubt anything will happen to you all the way over there, but keep an eye out._

_Daphne._

Astoria stood frozen, eyes wide.

“Well? What’s it say? Who won? Who won the Triwizard Tournament?” Cody shouted, grinning. The entire house was waiting. Astoria looked up.

“What’s wrong?” Rachelle called, noticing her horrified expression. Astoria swallowed.

“Um. I don’t know much. I expect everything will be in the papers soon, but Harry Potter—”

“Who?” Sonny asked. From the looks on everyone’s faces, Astoria could tell he wasn’t the only one confused. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Harry Potter, idiot. You know, the famous British baby? The one who survived the killing curse?” Peter explained.

“Ohhh” said Sonny.

“Oh yeah. I think I read about that somewhere.” another student commented.

“Never heard of him.” said Cody.

Peter rolled his eyes. “What happened Callie?” he called. Astoria’s hands were trembling.

“Well, Harry Potter claims that You-Know-Who, who was that Dark Wizard in Britain about fifteen years ago, I think you all might know him by Voldemort. But, Harry claims he’s back. Harry claimed that he attacked the final task and killed one of the competitors, Cedric Diggory. No one knows if it’s true yet.” Astoria said quietly.

Hushed whispers which soon turned to shouts permeated the common room. No one was scared, exactly. No one here cared about Voldemort. He was a very bad man in a very faraway place who did very bad things. He wasn’t a threat. After all, a baby stopped him. What was the big deal? But, it was still unnerving. No one wanted anyone to die. I mean, wasn’t Cedric their age? How sad.

Astoria swallowed and went upstairs to her dorm. Was it true? Surely not. Dead people stayed dead. They didn’t come back. She wasn’t sure that Harry Potter was this awful, horrible delinquent, like her sister made him out to be, but if he was the witness of some grisly murder, it was entirely possible for him to be confused or mistaken.

Rachelle entered the dorm a few minutes later, the two girls they shared it with still downstairs at the party. “Hey. Are you alright?” she asked, as she sat down next to Astoria on the bed.

Astoria nodded, mutely. Was he back? Would he attack the school? Would he hurt her family? What about her sister? Was You-Know-Who a threat that the Ministry could take care of? If not, what would happen?

“Hey. Relax. I know it’s scary when something like that happens, but we are safe here. I mean, we’ve got to be a million miles away from all that.” Rachelle tried. Astoria didn’t answer. She might be far away from danger, but her sister was not. “Are you worried about your pen-pal? Did she say she was hurt or something?” Rachelle tried again.

Astoria took a deep breath. “Yeah. I am. But, she said she was okay. Rachelle nodded and said, “Peter would come up, but he isn’t allowed.”

Astoria laughed. “Well, I appreciate the thought.” There was a long pause. “I’m going to get some sleep. I’m kind of tired.”

Rachelle stood up and headed to the door. “Night. I’m going to go help clean up. I don’t think anyone is really in the partying mood right now.” Just then, a loud cheer erupted, and calls for someone to chug more of their butterbeer. Rachelle sighed, and gave an apologetic smile. “Oh look. They’ve already forgotten about it.” Astoria gave a weak smile and turned over, listening to the sounds of the party below, as Rachelle closed the door behind her.

A week later, term ended, and Rachelle and Peter said their farewells, standing in the old, abandoned underground station. They could hear the distant rumble of the subway, separated by a brick wall from where they stood. Peter was supposed to have left by now, but he had waited for Astoria and Rachelle so he could bid them goodbye. His mother and brother were standing off to the side. His mother looked thrilled Peter had friends, and Sonny looked like he was ready to get off the platform, no doubt ready to celebrate his graduation. Peter would probably celebrate to; he was incredibly happy his brother would no longer be attending school with him.

“We should go. That MACUSA lady looks like she is ready to blow her top.” Peter said, gesturing to the same official from Astoria’s first time travelling to Ilvermorny.

On cue, the woman, in a very exasperated tone said, “Please exit the station! The next time slot is coming through and we must make space for students and parents. If you’ve arrived and found your guardians, please disapparate. Thank you!”

Peter laughed. “Alright. See you guys next term. Third year, big year.” Peter said, as he made his way to his parents. Astoria and Rachelle waved.

“I should go to. My dad is probably waiting at Grand Central. He starts to get nervous if I’m not there. He is always worried I’ll get trapped in the magical entrance.” Rachelle said, giggling as she gave Astoria a tight hug.

Astoria smiled and ignored the way her wand heated angrily against in her pocket. “Okay! I’ll miss you. Be sure to write.” Rachelle assured Astoria she would, before bounding off.

Astoria scanned the station. She saw Healer Johnson, who had been watching her, a smile on his face. Astoria hadn’t even realized he was here. She raced over to him, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you waiting.”

“Oh! It’s no worries. None at all. I’m glad you were talking to your friends.” Healer Johnson assured her, a little surprised by the ferocity of her hug.

“I have so much to tell you.” Astoria gasped, as Healer Johnson took her hand, preparing to apparate.

“I bet. I’m excited to hear about your year.”

With a crack, they disappeared, with Astoria having no idea that day would be the last she saw her friends.


	16. Astoria (July 20th 1995) Homecoming

July 20th 1995

Astoria had just bought a new pair of jeans, and she was admiring the way they fit in the mirror. She tied her hair back, wondering whether she should cut it. It had gotten quite long, and while she loved how full and shiny it looked, it was beginning to become cumbersome. She could ask Daphne once she arrived.

Daphne was coming to visit today, and Astoria was very excited. She hadn’t seen her since last summer, and Astoria missed her sister terribly.

There was a knock on the door and Astoria bounded across the room, expecting Daphne. Instead, it was Healer Johnson, looking extremely nervous.

“She isn’t coming, is she,” Astoria said, flatly. She wouldn’t be surprised.

“Oh! No, um. This isn’t about your sister. I believe she will be here in another hour or so. I wanted to talk to you about what you wrote me in May,” Healer Johnson said. Astoria’s eyes widened. After Astoria wrote him about what Helena had said, Healer Johnson had sent a letter back telling her to pay no mind to Helena. He said he would discuss everything in person when she had returned from school. However, Healer Johnson hadn’t discussed it with her, and Astoria hadn’t wanted him to. In all honesty, Astoria was scared by Helena’s comments, and she feared the answer. Daphne hadn’t mentioned it in any of her letters despite Astoria asking her to look into it. Perhaps Daphne had simply been too busy.

Astoria stepped back to let Healer Johnson into the room. He sat in a chair, while Astoria sat on her hospital bed. “What’s up?” she asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Do you remember? What I told you the day you left for your first day of school? That there might be people who would want to hurt you,” Healer Johnson began. Astoria was surprised he wasn’t stuttering. Perhaps he had rehearsed this speech several times, making sure he got it right.

“Yeah. I remember,” Astoria said, softly. Healer Johnson nodded, gravely.

“Well, there are some groups of people out there who seek interesting people. Special people. I think Miss Picquery mentioned a few of those groups to you.”

“Yeah. She did. The Circus Arcanum, the Menagerie, and the Hippodrome,” Astoria said. She had been turning the names around in her mind for many weeks, wanting to look them up and not daring to. 

Healer Johnson ran his hands up and down his legs, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in his trousers. “Yes. Well, they are all different. The Circus is exactly what it sounds like, a circus. They er, well. See they look for magical creatures to keep, to put on shows for entertainment. They would take you. Unwillingly.”

“I’m not a creature!” shouted Astoria, indignantly, tears springing to her eyes. Healer Johnson looked panicked.

“I know that, Astoria! You are the most human witch I know! I don’t want to tell you this. But, I have to. So you are aware. So you are safe,” Healer Johnson said, reaching forward to pat Astoria on the arm.

“What about the others?” Astoria asked, voice shaking.

“The Menagerie searches for animagi. Registered or unregistered, and attempt to kidnap them. It’s the same thing. They are used for…entertainment.” Healer Johnson said, after an uncomfortable pause.

“I’m not—” Astoria began, ready to tell him that she wasn’t an animagus.

“They don’t care, Astoria. It’s close enough, and you know that.”

“And the Hippodrome?” Astoria asked.

“Well, they aren’t as big of a threat to you. They primarily make their money in illegal equestrian racing, specializing in magical equines. Like Pegasi, Unicorns, Abraxans, creatures like that. But, they do have other spectacles, and if you fell into their hands, they would have no problem exploiting you to make a buck.”

“What do I do?” Astoria asked, softly.

“Keep it a secret, Astoria. You don’t have to hide the truth from trusted friends or family, but try to be careful. I hate—I hate this for you. It’s unfair that these groups exist, and it’s unfair that you have to hide from them. But, you must be careful. You have to be,” Healer Johnson replied.

Astoria nodded, and looked away, staring at her fingernails. She had developed a nasty nail-biting habit, one that she needed to stop.

“Don’t worry, Astoria. Please. Helena isn’t to go around talking of this. I owled her grandmother. I didn’t mention your condition, but I did mention what Helena said. She was shocked and appalled and has dealt with the issue,” Healer Johnson assured. Astoria wanted to laugh. How many people had Helena already told of her suspicions? How long until they came for her?

“Maybe I should go to school somewhere else. Maybe Drumstrang.”

“I don’t know, Astoria. We could talk about it. Drumstrang does take international students. They might have space for you. Perhaps Koldovstoretz. It’s in Siberia. It would be isolated. You would have to practice Russian, though. I don’t know if they would take international students, however,” Healer Johnson rambled. Astoria stared at her sneakers, despondent.

She had grown to like Ilvermorny. The great trees, the mountains, the river. Her friends, her classes, her teachers. She barely heard Healer Johnson, as her mumbled a bit more, before apologizing and offering to give her some space. She heard the door close, signaling that he had left. That is when, she cried.

After some time, she managed to dry her tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of her sister. Especially not when her sister would be so excited to see her.

Later, Daphne announced her presence by bursting through the door and wrapping Astoria in a crushing embrace. “Astoria. Do I have the best news for you! Oh my goodness, you are going to be so excited. I can’t even believe it.” Astoria tried to muster a smile.

“What?” asked Astoria, expecting her sister to reveal some exciting news such as some gossip about her friends, or some news about that boy she always talked about.

“You are coming home,” Daphne said, eyes sparkling. Astoria froze. Her heart stuttered, before it started beating impossibly fast.

“To visit?” Astoria whispered. She had never even seen where her parents and sister lived. Even if she got to stay with Daphne for a night or two, she would be beyond excited.

Daphne pressed her lips together, eyes laughing, as she shook her head. Then, as if she couldn’t bear keeping the secret any longer, she burst, “No. To stay. Permanently. _You’re coming home_.”

Astoria was silent. Stunned. She had dreamed of this moment for so many years, but now that it was finally here, she couldn’t quite believe it.

“Astoria, why are you crying?” Daphne asked, pulling back slightly. Astoria hadn’t even realized she was.

“I…I don’t know what to say. I can’t—Are you serious? Like, I’m living with you? Going to Hogwarts? Everything?” Astoria stuttered.

“Yes. Everything,” Daphne affirmed, as Astoria hugged her sister, impossibly tight.

Although, something was bothering Astoria. “Daphne. I don’t know. I mean, I’ve lived here my whole life. It’s my home. I can’t just drop everything—,” Astoria said, a thousand emotions overwhelming her, making her feel dizzy.

“A hospital isn’t a home, Astoria,” Daphne retorted, scathingly, wrinkling her nose as she surveyed the room, pulling away from Astoria.

“But school. I mean, my friends,” Astoria whispered, thinking of Rachelle and Peter.

“Astoria. How can they be your friends when they don’t even know who you are?” Daphne argued, letting go of Astoria, stepping back. Daphne’s words stung, and Astoria couldn’t think of when she had heard something that hurt more. But, Daphne was right, and that’s what made it so hard to hear. “I thought you’d be happy,” Daphne said, accusingly.

Astoria looked at Daphne, who was standing, arms crossed over an expensive set of dusky pink robes. Her sister narrowed her eyes, and for a second, just a second, Astoria thought about refusing. But, how could she? Not when she had wanted this her whole life.

Daphne’s anger turned to tears, filling her eyes. Astoria realized that Daphne was afraid Astoria would say no. Daphne wanted Astoria home, just as much as Astoria wanted to be home.

Astoria grinned. “Daphne. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my entire life. I just—I was in shock, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. Anywhere I’d rather go.” Daphne gave her a brilliantly beautiful smile, before embracing her once again.

“Oh, I just knew you would be positively thrilled! Pack your things! Father is downstairs talking to Healer Johnson right now and—" Daphne stepped back. “What are you wearing?”

“Jeans?”

“Circe, no. You look like a muggle. Get those off immediately. You can’t be walking around in that,” Daphne said, laughing, before walking to dresser that looked out of place in the hospital room. Daphne opened the drawers, before giving Astoria an exasperated look. “Oh my. You cannot be serious. Do you own any robes?”

“Yes! Umm, look in the bottom drawer. I wore those to the Winter Charity Ball the MACUSA threw for the hospital,” Astoria said, confused why she couldn’t just wear her jeans. Surely, they weren’t going anywhere nice. Of course, Daphne was dressed up. Perhaps they were. Daphne pulled out the red dress robes and scoffed.

“Well. Don’t worry about packing any clothes. We will buy you all new sets when we arrive. Just put these on and we will worry about it when we get home.” Daphne tossed the robes toward Astoria. She put them on, hurriedly.

“New clothes? I mean. New everything? Isn’t that expensive?” Astoria asked. She didn’t want to be a burden on her parents right out of the gate. Daphne gave her a blank look.

“What? No,” Daphne laughed. Astoria swallowed, but straightened out the robes, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Can’t I take a few things?” Astoria asked, eyeing her jeans. It wasn’t as if she didn’t love to dress up. She did! It was just…well. She didn’t want to leave everything behind. Daphne shook her head emphatically.

“Don’t be silly. You can’t go walking around in muggle clothing. It isn’t customary.” Astoria would find she heard the word customary a lot over the next few days.

“Oh. Alright.” Astoria said. She packed her school trunk but took only a few books that Daphne gave a suspicious once over, some hair ribbons, the leather bracelet from Rachelle and Peter, a photo album, and of course, her wand.

Daphne, seeing her wand said, “Oh your wand! You never told me what your wand is!”

“Uhh. Acacia and wampus hair,” Astoria said, hating that she was lying to her sister.

“Wampus hair? Huh. Odd. We can get you a new wand.” Astoria shook her head.

“No. I know it’s different than what Ollivander uses, but it’s fine. I promise.” Daphne gave her wand a mistrustful look and Astoria placed it her trunk to obscure it from view. “Your wand?” Astoria asked, teasingly.

“Cedar and dragon heartstring,” Daphne said, proudly. Astoria smiled.

“I see.” That was good. Owners of Cedar wands were trustworthy and loyal, as long as you were someone they cared about.

“What? Aren’t you going to analyze me?” Daphne teased, nodding toward Astoria’s books on wand lore that she was stacking in her trunk. Daphne was the only person she had willingly shared her fascination with.

“I thought it annoyed you when I did that,” Astoria replied, looking at Daphne.

“It does. But, I’m curious what your opinion is,” Daphne laughed.

“Hmm. Well, if you want to know, cedar wands show protectiveness over one’s own. It’s an admirable trait.”

Daphne groaned. It must not have been what she was hoping for. “Ugh. You know all that is just superstition, right?” Daphne asked.

Astoria shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know Daphne. I mean, I don’t believe the wood of your wand is a binding destiny; in the end, you decide your fate. But, there is countless research that supports…”

Astoria trailed off, noticing Daphne’s bored expression. She finished packing and stood up. “Done?” Daphne asked.

“Done,” Astoria said, grinning, excitement bubbling in her stomach, filling her with a warm feeling. Daphne and Astoria left, and Astoria didn’t bother looking back at the old room.

When Astoria arrived downstairs, she saw Healer Johnson arguing with her father, in hushed whispers. Astoria held her hand out, signaling for Daphne to stop. Daphne gave her a look, but Astoria held a finger to her lips and gestured to the scene in front of her.

“In light of what has happened, you really feel this is the best time to take her?” Healer Johnson hissed.

“The Ministry says—” her father began.

“Oh, Hyperion. You can’t be serious! Your Ministry won’t admit anything until there is no other option.”

“Now, David. I can assure you. Just because that Potter boy and Dumbledore claim You-Know-Who has returned, doesn’t mean he has. I would never put my daughters in a situation that was dangerous,” her father said, in a hushed tone. 

“You think it wise? To bring Astoria around your friends, given what they believe?” Healer Johnson pleaded.

“They wouldn’t hurt her,” her father insisted.

“No. Just cast her out. And you would do it right along with them. That’s why she is here in the first place.” Astoria was beginning to feel uncomfortable. What? What friends?

“I’m not discussing this with you, David. You were not given permission to assume this parental role in my daughter’s life.”

“Oh really? And who was supposed to assume it? You? You barely even saw her. I bet you can’t tell me one thing about her.” Healer Johnson threw his hands up in frustration.

“I can tell you that she is a Greengrass. And that means something.”

“Not to me.”

There was a heavy, charged silence. Astoria looked at Daphne, questioningly. What on earth was the argument about? If Healer Johnson felt so strongly that she shouldn’t go…

Finally, Healer Johnson spoke. “If it is true.”

“It isn’t,” her father insisted.

“If it is. And he is back. What side would you be on?” Healer Johnson met her father’s eye, leaning forward. He was not a tall man, but in this moment, Astoria had never seen him look more frightening.

Her father, however, was unaffected. “The right one,” he said, his tone firm, and final. Daphne chose this moment to announce her presence.

“Father. She’s ready!” Daphne said, climbing down the last few steps and going to stand by their father. Her father looked toward her and smiled.

“Astoria! You look well! I’m glad to see you.” Her father spread his hands, and Astoria swallowed.

“Yes. I just realized that I forgot to say goodbye to the nurses. I really should. Healer Johnson, would you come with me?” Astoria asked, brightly, struggling to maintain a happy, blank expression.

Her father looked nervous, but Healer Johnson must have sensed her ploy, and said, “Yes, Astoria. Let’s go.”

Healer Johnson took her trunk and set it down next to her father, before leading her through a door and down a hallway to the staff breakroom. A few nurses were milling around, and when they saw Astoria, they smiled at her.

“Hey Martha. Hey Jen. Do you mind if we have the room for a few minutes?” Healer Johnson asked.

“Sure, David,” Martha said, turning toward Jen to share a look. They left though, without a word. Healer Johnson waited a few moments to make sure they were gone, but it was Astoria who broke the silence first.

“Healer Johnson. Is there a reason I shouldn’t go home?” Astoria asked, quietly. Healer Johnson gave her a pained look.

“Oh, Astoria. If it were another time, then I would say no. But if those rumors are true, then it would be a terrible time for you to go home. There could be another war that breaks out.” Healer Johnson ran a hand over his face.

Astoria bit her lip. “I know. But, I thought we said I had to change schools. I can’t go to school here anymore. Helena started a rumor I was cursed, and while no one knows the nature of the curse, wouldn’t that be enough for _those people_ to start watching me?”

Healer Johnson sighed. “Possibly. And, that’s a good point. I just…you will have to be careful.”

“If war breaks out, I’ll come back. But for now, if it’s just rumors…” Astoria prompted. Healer Johnson didn’t look convinced.

“I don’t have the authority to say no, Astoria. It doesn’t matter. If your father wants you home, then he wants you home. I can’t stand in the way of that,” Healer Johnson said.

A few minutes ago, Astoria had never been happier, but now? She couldn’t imagine what the right thing to do was. However, if there was a war, she should help her family. Not run and hide in a country that wasn’t hers while her own family was trapped with a Dark Wizard.

“It’s my family. My sister. I can’t just stay. If they want me, I need to go,” Astoria said, firmly. Healer Johnson nodded and gave her a sad smile.

“Alright. Well, that’s that. I’m excited for you, you know. Hogwarts is an amazing school. I know I spent a lot of time talking up Ilvermorny. But, now that you can go, I can tell you that it is rare to find a wizarding school so esteemed.”

Astoria grinned. “I’ll write you. I swear. I’ll tell you everything, and I’ll come back and visit.” Healer Johnson nodded. “I’ll have to write Rachelle and Peter. Tell them I’m not coming back.”

Healer Johnson nodded, and then an odd expression, almost like fear flickered across his face. “Astoria. Don’t tell anyone about your friendship with Rachelle. Don’t mention she comes from a no-maj family. Alright? Be careful what you say. Some wizards in Britain—” Healer Johnson was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Martha poked her head in and said, “David. Mr. Greengrass says it’s time to leave. Now.” Healer Johnson nodded. Astoria saw her father watching them over Martha’s shoulder, a dark look on his face.

She reached over and hugged Healer Johnson, whispering as quietly as she could, “You are a part of my family too.” He smiled at her, looking almost sick as she pulled away, and she was beginning to think he hadn’t wanted her to say that. She was a little stung, but she couldn’t blame him. Perhaps she had simply overestimated their relationship.

As she was leaving, he said, "I love you, Astoria.” Her father glowered, and but Astoria’s heart soared, she smiled as she left the breakroom, leaving him standing there, looking after her with a frightened expression.

* * *

Astoria was walking toward a large manor house, that looked straight out of one of Nurse Jen’s Jane Austen novels. Healer Johnson had, delicately, told her that her family was wealthy. However, Astoria had not imagined this. Daphne laughed at her awed expression.

“Here it is! Thornhill Park! Isn’t is just beautiful?” Daphne beamed, as Astoria followed her up the pebbled walkway, her nice flats crunching against the rocks. The house loomed ahead, almost oppressive in its beauty, and Astoria had an odd urge to hide from it.

The landscape surrounding the house was rolling, covered with grasses, like heather, gorse, and broom. The wind rustled her hair, and when it blew across the bushes, it made a sound reminiscent of the sea.

“Where are we? Near London?” Astoria asked, not knowing where they could possibly be. She didn’t know much about the geography of England, though she now desperately wished she had at least read a book about it.

“Goodness no, Astoria. We are in the Yorkshire countryside,” her father said, his voice floating back as he walked a little way ahead of Astoria and Daphne. “Moorland, Astoria. Moorland.”

Astoria swept her eyes across the bleak hills, with mist hovering around the tops, the heather covering the landscape in a sea of purple. It was cold, mysterious, and Astoria found it rather beautiful.

“It’s lovely,” she murmured, as if afraid to break through the howling wind. Her father’s booming laugh echoed back to her.

“Glad you think so. When you were very small, I used to take you out here. You liked it then to,” her father boasts. Astoria smiled. That was nice, to think that at one time, her father had played with her, noticed what she liked and did not like. It gave her hope.

Daphne frowned but when she noticed Astoria looking, she gave her a soft smile. “Father. Astoria needs clothes. That healer had her in muggle things.” Daphne called. Astoria was about to protest, saying she had picked out the jeans herself.

Her father spoke to quickly for her to comment. “Of course. I send money for clothes, and he buys her muggle things. I’ll take care of it, Astoria. You’ll look like a witch soon enough.” Astoria frowned. Wizards and witches wore a mix of no-maj and wizarding clothing in America, and no one ever commented on it. Robes were considered professional, and more elegant, but most of her friends had causal muggle clothing. She supposed the style here must be different.

Her father entered the manor, telling the girls he had something to attend to, and would see her later. Astoria was about to step forward, but she found she could not. There was some force keeping her from entering. “Daphne.” she hissed, panicking. Daphne turned to her and laughed.

“Circe! Father added you to the outer wards, but you need to put some blood on the front entrance to be added to these wards. They are a little stronger.” Daphne reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a thin, silver dagger. Astoria eyed it, wondering who walked around armed like that. Daphne took the dagger and grabbed Astoria’s hand. Panicking, Astoria yelped and tried to pull her hand back. “I’m just going to prick your finger, Astoria. Relax,” Daphne said. “They don’t have blood wards in America?” No. They did not. Astoria tried to relax, though her arm was still tense. Daphne reached out and barely pricked Astoria’s pointer finger on the tip of her dagger. True to Daphne’s word, it had hardly hurt, and Astoria watched a bead of glistening crimson form on the pad of her finger. Daphne grabbed Astoria’s hand, bending down, and dragged her finger across the threshold of the front door, in a line on the ground. Astoria could see a small bit of her blood smeared, and before her eyes, it seemed to sink into the stone of the front steps.

“Try now,” Daphne commanded, pushing Astoria forward. Astoria stepped through the door with ease, sighing in relief.

Astoria found herself in the middle of a grand entrance hall, with marble floors, that were decorated with a deep, green floor runner. There were two suits of armor, standing at attention beside the doorway. Astoria was shocked, hardly believing this was where her family lived.

“It’s not as nice as some of my friends’ homes. The Malfoys’ and the Notts’ are bigger. But, I think our estate is very nice,” Daphne said, nervously, as if Astoria might not like it.

Astoria turned to Daphne, an incredulous expression on her face. “I believe this is the most beautiful house I’ve ever been in.” Daphne smiled triumphantly at her expression.

“Let me give you the grand tour.”

The tour was grand. Daphne led her down corridor after corridor, each richly carpeted and each displaying various expensive and impressive paintings. Astoria saw a family portrait, one she was not featured in. In fact, she was in none of the paintings. Daphne noticed Astoria’s gaze, and said, “Don’t worry. We can have another one painted, now that you’re here.” But, there was something that portrait that bothered her; standing next to it, she felt out of place.

Daphne showed her a library, with so many books, Astoria wondered if she could read them all before she died. There was a ballroom, with marble floors and a magnificent chandelier, that Astoria thought might be worth more than the entirety of the Hospital. Daphne had more to show her, however. Daphne escorted her to the dining room, the breakfast room, the drawing room, the music room, the parlor, the study, her father’s study, though they didn’t go in, a sitting room, another sitting room, several bedrooms, Daphne’s bedroom, her parent’s bedroom, the bathrooms, the solaris, the gardens, and Astoria was so exhausted, she felt she wanted to lay down in one of the carpeted hallways and take a nap. She wondered that with this many rooms, how she would manage to remember where anything was.

However, Daphne turned to her and said, “Do you want to see your room? I picked everything out!” Astoria nodded, and followed Daphne who led her back up the grand staircase. There had been a room or two that Daphne had skipped, and Astoria assumed that Daphne had been saving those for last, and she hadn’t wanted to interrupt. Astoria followed Daphne down the corridor and opened a door near Daphne’s bedroom, and gestured for Astoria to follow her inside.

Astoria surveyed the room, carefully examining every corner. In the middle of the room, was a large bed that Astoria thought could have fit three of her. There was a nightstand beside it, with an ornate looking glass lamp. There was also a vanity, a small seating area next to a bookshelf, and a hearth. It reminded Astoria of a suite rather than a bedroom. Daphne gestured to a door which Astoria assumed must be the bathroom.

“I love it. Thank you,” Astoria said, breathlessly. She was felt overwhelmed and extremely faint. She sat down on the bed, the purple of the duvet matching the heather of the moors, visible through the large windows, that looked like they opened onto a balcony.

“Well, I’ll let you get settled. Tomsy will be along with your trunk shortly, and then I will be back just in a bit to help you dress for dinner.” Daphne left and Astoria flopped on the bed. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t happy. She was. She just had this awful feeling, as if she was in class, and being asked a series of questions she couldn’t understand. Astoria was in a place entirely new and different, and she was terrified that she wouldn’t be able to adapt.

A creature appeared, one she had never seen before, that Astoria found rather ugly. She screamed, when the little thing appeared, with it’s small, scrawny body, large head, floppy ears, and glassy eyes. The creature had her trunk floating beside it, and it yelped at her screaming, as if it was startled. Daphne rushed in, her eyes wide. “Astoria!”

Astoria pointed, gasping, at the horrible creature.

“Tomsy does not know what she did! She simply arrived with the trunk, and the young mistress began to have a fit!” the creature spoke. It could talk. How horrid.

“Daphne! Send for the Aurors!” Astoria shouted, panicking, forgetting that Aurros don’t deal with creatures.

“Astoria. It’s just the house-elf.”

“The what?”

“The house-elf. The servant.” The creature wore a nice, little black dress, with neat tiny, shoes. Astoria realized that she made a mistake and must have hurt the thing’s feelings, judging from its wounded expression. The house-elf looked like it was about to cry, and Astoria felt guilty.

“Oh my. I am so sorry! I just. Well. I’ve never seen um. An elf before. So, I’m terribly sorry. To offend.”

The house-elf accepted her apology, but hurried out of the room, throwing her a distrustful look. Daphne laughed at her for a few moments but left shortly, likely sensing Astoria’s discomfort. She had never even heard of house-elf.

After an hour, the house-elf appeared again, this time outside her door, knocking. Astoria let it in. “Hello,” Astoria said, carefully.

“Greetings. Tomsy is to inform you that the master asks for you in his study,” the elf said, in a squeaky voice, that was full of trepidation.

“Who?” Master? Astoria didn’t know who that was.

“Your father, mistress.” Oh. Weird.

“You can call me Astoria. It’s cool,” she tried, hopefully. It made her eyes prick with embarrassment to be called mistress. Rachelle would laugh her into next week if she heard.

“It isn’t customary for Tomsy to call mistress by her first name, nor is it customary for Tomsy to be cool.” That word again. Customary. Astoria was beginning not to like it.

“Right. Sorry. Well, okay. I’ll be there,” Astoria said, anxiously, and jumped when the elf disappeared with a crack.

Astoria left her bedroom and tried to remember the way to the study. After a few minutes, she knocked on a door, hoping it was her father’s study. Her father opened the door with a flick of his wand, and Astoria entered, suddenly very nervous.

“There you are! I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming!” Her father had a jovial expression on his face, if only a bit strained.

Astoria smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t remember the way and got a little lost.” Her father laughed and gestured for her to sit the chair across from his desk. Astoria sat down, resisting the urge to bite her nails.

“I just wanted to talk, see how you were settling in! My, you look so nervous!” Her father leaned back in his seat, cracking his neck, laughing slightly.

“I’m doing well. The house is very nice. I like my room,” Astoria offered, throat dry. She didn’t have a reason to be nervous, she reminded herself.

“Yes, yes. I suppose it must be quite splendid after that old hospital!” Astoria gave a weak laugh in response. “Yes, well. Don’t worry about your wardrobe. We will sort that out soon enough. You’re a Greengrass. You must look like one!”

“Thank you. I tried to bring some clothes, but Daphne said—”

“Nonsense. Astoria. Anything you need. Anything you want. You shall have. You always had that privilege. If you had written to me, I would have provided your heart’s desire. Now? You can just tell me!” Her father spread his arms wide, as if offering the world. It sounded like he was.

Astoria grinned. What young girl didn’t want to hear that? “Thank you. I’m incredibly grateful.” Astoria said.

“Yes, yes. Now about school. I wrote to the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts, explaining that we would like you to be educated here. She wrote back, confirming that all your credits transferred. So, not to worry.” Her father paused, as though trying to think of something else. “Ah! Yes. She will be arriving sometime this week to perform a small sorting ceremony. That way you don’t have to do it in front of everyone, yes? I can’t imagine you’d want to stand there with all the first-years.”

Astoria sighed in relief. _Thank goodness._ “That’s kind of her.” Astoria said.

“Yes. It is. There is something else I wanted to discuss. These friends of yours. Rachelle? Peter? Well, it would be best if you didn’t write them. If it could be avoided.”

“Why?” Astoria asked, nervous. Why on earth would her father care?

“Oh! Just decided it’s best for a clean break, don’t you think? I mean, I’m aware of the people that might want to hurt you. Daphne mentioned it to be as soon as she got your letter.” Astoria frowned, but she hadn’t expected anything less. “I understand that your identity was called into question at school? The letters could be traced back here, you know. Someone might go looking for Callie Johnson, and we don’t want them to find Astoria Greengrass. I don’t want people to connect that Callie Johnson and Astoria Greengrass are the same person, yes?”

“I mean—”

“You don’t want to put yourself in danger, do you? Besides, you are here now! There you may have been, some common girl. But here? You are Astoria Greengrass. And that, is something you cannot possibly explain to your friends,” her father said, good-naturedly.

“Yes. I suppose you are right.” Astoria said, unsurely. She didn’t want to put herself in danger.

“Glad we agree on this. Naturally, however, people are going to have questions! I mean, I suddenly have another daughter!”

“I’ve always been your daughter.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. But, we can’t have people find out about your condition. So, I’ve prepared some answers for you.”

“Okay.” More lies. Her father cleared his throat, and began what would be a long, and detailed speech.

“Most of the people in our circle know that you have studied abroad, but they want a reason. They want to know why. So, I say we tell them, you didn’t want to go to the same school as your sister! You wanted to branch out, spread your wings. Er, no pun intended.” Astoria didn’t respond, upset at the prospect at once again, weaving a story and living a life that weren’t her own. Her father looked as though he could sense her discomfort but continued. “Now, you left at quite a young age, and that is bound to turn some heads.” Astoria bristled. She hadn’t left. She had never been given the opportunity to leave. She had been sent away, forced to leave her home behind. Had her choice ever been taken in to account she never would have gone. Her father however, felt he had come up with a brilliant explanation for her, from the extremely pleased look on his face. “I’ve been looking over your transcript, from Ilvermorny, and I have discovered you are an extremely talented witch. So, you are going to tell anyone who asks, that you were a part of a gifted program, for young witches and wizards, because of the excellent magical aptitude you showed, even when you were young. We can use that to explain why you are a year behind in school. You can just say that you wanted to stay with the program another year. And, with your talents, it will be entirely believable.”

“Okay. Uh, sure! I can say that,” Astoria said, desperately trying to commit her new back story to memory. Astoria tried to ignore the awful twisting feeling that was beginning to form in her stomach. She should be used to lying. If it was something that would keep her safe, then it was something that would keep her safe. Besides, at least the lies were less monumental. Here, she could keep her name, keep her family. She may have to lie about her past, but she wouldn’t have to lie about her present.

“Good! Excellent. Now, for the truth! If they ask why you are back, why you didn’t finish your education at Ilvermorny, just say that we couldn’t bear to stay apart from you any longer!” Her father gave her a wide smile, that stretched his face a little unnaturally. Astoria returned the smile, pleased by the statement. She was not sure if she quite believed her father, but she was too caught up basking in the newfound warmth of familial acceptance to speak or think on her shred of doubt.

There was, however, one thing that bothered her, one thing that had constantly spun around in the back of her mind, turning repeatedly in her head. Astoria had never seen or met her mother. Even now, when she had been home, she had seen no mother, except for the one in the portraits. No woman had come running out to greet her, or to even say hello.

“Father. Might I ask a question?” Astoria said, softly.

“Of course! Ask away!” her father assured, leaning forward earnestly.

“Where is mother? Why hasn’t she bothered to come and see me? She never visited the hospital and now she hasn’t come to greet me. Why?” Astoria felt herself began to tremble, when her father’s face fell. 

Her father sighed, and shifted in his seat, causing the leather chair to creak. “Astoria, your mother is, how do I put this,” her father began. He folded his hands.

Something had been pricking the back of her mind since she saw the family portraits. Astoria didn’t look like she belonged with this family. Astoria had pale, almost porcelain skin, while her family looked as if they possessed a slightly darker complexion. Astoria had dark hair, and dark eyes, while her father, her mother, and her sister had the same, shiny golden hair, with light eyes. It made her wonder, made her uncomfortable. Her heart clenched and her father opened his mouth to speak again.

“Your mother is ill, Astoria. Mentally, I mean. She is very high functioning, mind you. It is a well-kept secret of our family, as your mother would hate if anyone outside these walls knew. But, it causes her to act erratically, or to have bouts of irrational anger.” her father said, gently.

“But, I still don’t understand—”

“Astoria. Your mother wants nothing to do with you. I hate to say it, have it right here, out in the open, but it is the truth. She…she is a difficult woman.”

Astoria’s eyes widened. She flinched and started at the plush carpet of her father’s study, trying not to dissolve into tears. “Is it…is it because of the curse?” Astoria asked, quietly.

“Circe, no! Astoria, it has nothing to do with you! It is purely all in your mother’s head! She’s mad, Astoria. I cannot explain it, and neither can she, but know that it is an illness that plagues your mother’s mind, and it is no fault of your own.”

Astoria nodded, mutely. Her father looked at her for a moment. “Can I leave? If we are finished?” whispered Astoria. She wanted to go. She wanted to cry somewhere. Her muscles were beginning to contract and she felt rather sick, a sign that at some point, she should probably transform.

“Yes. That’s fine. I’ll see you at diner,” her father said, awkwardly. Astoria left the study quietly, but once she was a few paces away, she ran to her room. It was a small comfort, that her father had mentioned nothing illegitimate about her parentage, which had been her fear. But, the ease that knowledge provided her was nothing to outmatch the heaviness that had settled into her heart. Her own mother couldn’t stand her, and even if it was due to insanity, it still hurt.

When she reached her bedroom, her muscles were aching, and her bones felt like they were pushing against her skin. She was beginning to get a headache. She stepped onto the balcony, breathing in the smell of clean air blowing off the moors. The balcony had a railing, and she hopped up, sitting on the edge, dangling her legs off the side. She pushed off, until she was falling through the air, wind whistling in her ears as she tumbled down. Healer Johnson would lose it if he knew; he always hated when she jumped before transforming.

In mid-air, she twisted, her limbs folding in on themselves, or in some cases, turning outwards. She was girl no more. She had transformed into a sparrowhawk, with brown, feathered wings, bright yellow eyes, and talons.

Astoria used to like flying. There really was no other feeling like it, especially when she could see every detail of the ground below with sharp eyes, that still didn’t feel like her own. Now, she thought of it as a chore, an ugly reminder of what she was, what she was forced to endure. She couldn’t pretend there was no thrill in the swoops and dives, and turns she could make in the air, but they were often spoiled when she remembered that one day, she would have no choice but to be a hawk until she perished.

After about an hour, when she felt she had given in to the curse long enough to hold it at bay for maybe another month or so, she turned back to the manor, surveying every inch of the beautiful landscape with her now, perfectly honed vision.

She flew in her window and transformed back into herself again, feet hitting the floor with practiced ease, as she landed. She heard a soft gasp and turned her head to the small seating area, where Daphne sat. Astoria immediately felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” she mumbled, twisting the fabric of her robes beneath her fingers.

“No! I haven’t been waiting long. I didn’t realize you were…out.” A heavy silence followed, and Astoria felt like crying. Daphne seemed to sense her discomfort. “I’ve never seen you change, you know. I don’t think I even knew what you looked like.” Silence. “It reminds me of the Transfiguration professor, Professor McGonagall. She transforms into a cat sometimes. Everyone really likes when she does it, though my friends pretend to think it’s lame.” Astoria smiled warily.

“Is she an animagus?” Astoria asked, as Daphne stood.

“Yeah. I mean, she is registered as one. She talked about the process to us in class once. Fascinating stuff.” Astoria nodded. Daphne grabbed her arm and pulled her to the bed. “I brought you a few of my robes. I don’t know if they will fit exactly, but Tomsy can come in and make slight adjustments. Try not to yell at her though. She is sensitive.”

“I really am sorry about that.” Astoria said. “We don’t have those.”

“ _They_ don’t have those. Not we.” Daphne corrected.

“Right. Sorry.” Astoria apologized.

“Pick which ever one you want.” Daphne said, gesturing to the robes laid out on the bed. There was a deep green, a mauve, and a coral-colored set. Astoria pick the green, and Daphne smiled.

“Excellent choice. Jewel tones look good with dark hair.” Daphne commented, and Astoria nodded, pretending to know what that meant.

Once she was dressed for dinner, and Tomsy had adjusted her dress to fit her frame, she followed Daphne to the dining room.

Astoria was torn between hoping her mother was there and fearing the animosity which her father discussed. Daphne went in, smiling brightly. “Mother. Father.” Astoria felt her heart sink.

A woman sat next to her father, wearing elegant robes of a rich, plum color. Astoria thought she might be one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, with her golden hair, set perfectly, and her deep blue, almost violet, eyes. Daphne bent down to kiss her cheek, and the woman’s face formed a bright, proud smile when she looked at her daughter. Then, her eyes swept to Astoria.

Her mother’s face fell into an expression of icy contempt. Astoria winced, and tried to smile, but when the woman’s lip curled into a sneer, she lost her nerve. She desperately wanted to go back to her room and hide. Daphne frowned.

“Mother. Please.” Daphne scoffed, rolling her eyes, as if she was completely over her mother. Her mother sighed contemptuously and took a long draught of wine from her crystal glass. Daphne sat across from her mother and gestured to the seat next to her. Astoria took her place next to her sister and returned her father’s smile.

“Astoria. I owled my friends this afternoon, to tell them you are home. They are really excited to meet you.” Daphne offered as she stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork.

“Oh! Well, I’m excited to meet them,” Astoria said, though in truth she was anxious about the prospect. 

“You think it wise? To cart her out in front of the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Notts? You think it appropriate?” her mother fumed, glaring at Astoria. Astoria sunk low in her seat. She didn’t know who any of these people were, though she recognized the last names from Daphne’s letters. Was it really so consequential, her introduction to them?

“Yes. I do. She needs friends. People on her side. Advocates. They will like her. Astoria is absolutely charming, and when my friends tell their parents how great she is, we may just make it without making the front page of the gossip columns.” Daphne spat.

Astoria was reeling. Advocates? For what? How would she be important enough to make it onto a gossip column? Daphne was making this sound life and death. 

“She is right, Aspasia. The minute someone sees her with Daphne, rumors will fly. Whether they are about what a wonderful new addition to our society she is, or whether she is a blunder on our name, will be dependent on first impressions,” her father said, nodding his head.

“Sorry. I’m not quite sure what you mean? Why would anyone be so interested in me?” Astoria wanted to know what all this fuss was about.

“You’re a Greengrass,” her father said, simply. Astoria frowned, but didn’t say anything. Astoria cut a small piece of meat off her chicken, trying both to copy Daphne’s every move during the meal, as well as pay attention to the conversation.

“Astoria, there is nothing to be worried about! Everything will go perfectly smoothly. I’ll make sure of it,” Daphne assured, having noticed Astoria’s slightly green look.

They ate in silence for a time, before her mother asked, “So, is she fixed?”

"Pardon?” Astoria tried to keep her tone as polite as possible.

“Cured,” her mother stated, sharply. Astoria sighed.

“No. It’s incurable,” Astoria said, softly.

“Mother,” admonished her sister.

Astoria’s mother turned to glare darkly at her father. “Do you see? Do you see what you have brought us?” Astoria felt an odd urge to defend her father.

“Actually, the curse of a maledictus is passed down from the maternal line. Always.” Astoria fixed her mother with a hard stare. In her eyes, she saw contempt, hatred, and something that scared Astoria. Cold amusement. Astoria stood.

"I believe I am finished. Thank you for the meal, but I’m a little tired.” Astoria turned and exited the dining room, ignoring Daphne’s cry of dismay.

When Astoria reached her room, she lay on top of her bed, not able to muster the energy to cry. Her mother really did hate her.

The wind howled off the moors, creating a sound like a mournful cry. Astoria shook her head, wondering what on earth had she gotten herself into.


	17. Draco (July 23rd 1995): Quite Plain

Draco wondered, if he ran across the dining room, and jumped out the window, making a mad bid for escape, if he would shatter the bones in his legs. He also wondered, that even if he did shatter the bones in his legs, if it wouldn’t be worth it, so long as he didn’t have to listen to his mother and Mrs. Parkinson talk any longer. Pansy eyed him from across the table, giving him a pained look, as if she too was considering leaping out the window. Their fathers had retired into his father’s study after barely finishing the main course. Now, he and Pansy were doomed to hear another round of gossip. At least Pansy was able to muster some interest. Draco couldn’t even pretend to care.

“Well, you will never guess who I saw at Twilfitt and Tattings.” Mrs. Parkinson began. Pansy perked up at this, leaning in slightly. His mother turned to face her.

“Who?”

“Daphne Greengrass. With one other addition. The second sister.”

Pansy caught Draco’s eye across the table. Daphne had written each of them, telling them her sister had arrived, but Draco hadn’t bothered responding.

“Really? And? What of her?” his mother asked.

“Well, I must admit, nothing interesting. Except, she was getting fitted for an entire new wardrobe. Isn’t that odd? I mean, I saw robe after robe, gown after gown, shoes, sweaters, skirts, just well, everything. As if she didn’t own a single article of clothing,” Mrs. Parkinson said. Pansy frowned.

“That is odd,” his mother admitted. Draco shook his head. As if the girl’s shopping habits mattered! Who cared that she bought a lot of clothes? He had seen his mother in Twilfit and Tattings and she had put quite the dent into his inheritance on more then once occasion.

“Yes. So, of course, I went in, to do a little snooping, introduce myself,” Mrs. Parkinson continued. “And we all know Daphne, such a sweet, wonderful girl, a model young lady. She was polite, and charming. Her sister? Couldn’t have been more different. She hardly spoke to me!”

“Perhaps she was shy, mother,” Pansy tried.

“Hm. Perhaps. Or she had something to hide. I asked all my questions, you know. Like why were you educated in America? Why have you been gone for so long? Why are you just now returning? And, her answers were odd,” Mrs. Parkinson trilled, baiting them.

His mother frowned. “What did she say?”

“Well, here is the story she fed me. Apparently, she was sent to a program for the young, talented, witch or wizard, sort of a preparatory program for children before they attend school. Daphne told me her magical aptitude was so great, they were asked to send her there just before her second birthday. Apparently, she was so powerful, they were worried about her harming someone, waiting that long to learn to control her magic.”

“That is incredibly strange. I know such programs exist, but I was not aware there was one in North America,” his mother said, frowning.

Draco and Pansy looked at each other. Gifted? Draco hoped she wasn’t better at magic then him! Then again, perhaps she could give Granger a run for her money. That would be nice to see.

“Yes, and do you know she is fourteen? Yet when I asked what year she would be going into, she said she would be starting her third year this fall. How are you gifted, yet a year behind in school?” Mrs. Parkinson wondered, eyes gleaming at the thought of someone being caught in a lie. “It’s all very curious, indeed. So, naturally, that brought the next question. Fine, so your _gifted_. Why not come to Hogwarts? Why stay in North America? It makes no sense to me.” Mrs. Parkinson prattled.

“I must say, I agree. And, what did she have to say?” his mother questioned. Draco had to admit, this was a little intriguing. His mother and Mrs. Parkinson were right. It _was_ strange.

“Well, she told me, that she hadn’t wanted to go to school with her sister. Apparently, she wanted to go to a place where she could, as she said, “forge her own path.’ But, is that not odd? I mean, with a good name like hers, why on earth would she want to do a thing like that?”

“Well, it certainly is ambitious. I cannot lie, Daphne Greengrass would be a difficult girl to live up to. I can understand her wanting to be free of preconceived notions. But, what I want to know, is why come back now? If you want to go to seek elsewhere for your education, fine. Many do. But to just leave, in the middle of your schooling?” his mother argues. The conversation is getting dull again, in Draco’s opinion.

“The girl said her parents missed her too much, wanted her home,” Mrs. Parkinson supplied, raising her eyebrows.

His mother smiled. “Now that I can understand. Although, Aspasia talks of Daphne nearly constantly, and never, and I mean never, unless Daphne brought it up, did she mention—Draco? Did you say her name was Astoria?” his mother remarked, turning to him as she asked her question.

He looked toward Pansy, who rolled her eyes. “Yes Mrs. Malfoy. That is what Daphne told us,” Pansy said, pointedly giving him a look.

“Thank you, Pansy,” his mother said. “Well, Astoria then. The point is, things don’t quite add up.”

“I agree. And, she couldn’t have looked more different than Daphne! I mean, you wouldn’t know they were sisters! Astoria looked, well, there is no other word for it. Quite plain.”

“Mother!” Pansy hissed, looking a little horrified.

Draco leaned over, whispering, “Since when do you care about insulting someone’s appearance. You called Granger much worse.” Draco gave her a teasing smile.

“That’s different. She is Daphne’s sister. Our friend’s sister,” she hissed back. Draco gave her a guilty look. True. She was a Greengrass. One of them.

“Now, Pansy! I’m not saying she was unattractive! Just entirely unremarkable. I only remember her face because it was so different than Daphne’s, but if I met her and tried to recall her later without her sister in reference, I wouldn’t be able to remember a thing about her!”

“Really? That is surprising. Daphne is beautiful girl,” his mother commented, clearly a little uncomfortable with where the conversation had turned.

“I know. Far prettier than Pansy.” Pansy’s cheeks turned red at her mother’s words, and she looked down at her shoes, clearly trying to blink back tears of embarrassment.

Draco kicked her leg, and when she looked at him, he shook his head, mouthing, “Not true.” She gave him a small smile and turned back to listen to her mother.

“Astoria just looked, well, common. I mean, she had dark hair, dark eyes, odd considering her mother and father are so fair. And Daphne has this willowy, elegant frame; sylphlike. Astoria was shorter, more of an hour-glass figure, perhaps? She didn’t look anything like a Greengrass. She honestly reminded me of a Travers, they have that look about them.” Draco stood suddenly, noticing Pansy’s bothered expression.

“Mother. Pansy and I want to see the garden. May we be excused?” Draco asked. His mother nodded, before turning back to Mrs. Parkinson.

“Now, Thalassa. I know plenty of dark-haired Selwyns. She got her looks from her mother’s side of the family. Octavia had dark hair, don’t you remember?” his mother said, though that was the last he heard as he pulled Pansy from the room.

“One more minute in there, and I may have jumped from the window,” Draco said, once they were a safe distance away.

“Yeah,” Pansy mumbled, staring at her shoes.

“Merlin, Parkinson. Don’t get caught up about Daphne. She is the star of our parent’s friends, and none shall compare,” he said, mockingly.

“You are too, you know,” Pansy said, looking at him.

“Well, of course I am. But drop the woe is me act. You act like you are some social pariah. The Families like you just fine,” Draco ordered. “Besides, this new Greengrass girl is going to take the brunt of everyone’s spite and gossip. Bulstrode will be thrilled,” Draco added.

Pansy laughed, as they walked toward a back door that exited out towards one of the many gardens. “True. I feel bad for her. They’ll be gossiping about her for ages. I wonder whether she’ll ever get a moment’s peace,” Pansy paused as they stepped outside, breathing in the night air. “Of course, we have to help her. You know how excited Daphne is that she is home. And, just between you and me, I don’t think her stay is as permanent as Daphne led Astoria to believe.”

Draco turned to her. “What?”

“Well, Daphne told me, that she got the idea that if Astoria doesn’t perform well, if she doesn’t fit in to, well, our world, then she will be sent back,” Pansy said. Draco raised his eyebrows.

“Really? Harsh,” Draco said.

“I know. And, Daphne is worried sick. She is terrified that Astoria isn’t going to do well. She wasn’t taught right from wrong. Daphne said, she is pretty sure Astoria hasn’t heard of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Not to metnion, she doesn’t know who Circe or Aeëtes are, and she hasn’t ever read the _Praecepta Purissimum_. Never attended an etiquette class, never went to dancing lessons, can't play an instrument, the list goes on and on."

“You’re kidding,” Draco said, eyes widening in disbelief.

“No. I’m not. She’s untrained, unlearned. And you and I both know she is about to be thrown into a den of wolves.”

Draco nodded. “I don’t know what we can be expected to do about it. It sound’s like Daphne’s problem to me.”

Pansy glared at him. “Daphne has been our friend for years. We have to help her. You don’t know how hard it is, Draco. You don’t know what it’s like to lose a sibling,” Pansy said, voice cracking.

Draco immediately felt bad. There was a long beat of silence. “Parkinson,” he said, his only offering of apology. Pansy took it, giving him an obliging, tight smile. He knocked his shoulder into Pansy’s, brushing his fingertips against hers.

“When—My brother. Chose to run away with that—that thing—it was awful,” Pansy murmured. Draco remembered her brother, vaguely. He was nearly eight years older than Draco, if he remembered correctly. It had been quite the scandal. Damon Parkinson, run off with some mudblood. Pansy wasn’t even supposed to speak of him, acknowledge his existence.

“Draco. We have to help Daphne. I care about her and I know you do to. People like us, we have to stick together,” Pansy pleaded. She was right.

“Fine. We can help Astoria. I mean, how hard could it be?” Draco said, scoffing.

Draco would soon realize how foolish that statement had been.


	18. Bellatrix (September 1st 1964): Arguments and Train Rides

September 1st 1964

Andromeda sat across from her in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Bellatrix had told her friends she would find them shortly, opting to sit with her sister instead, if only for a few minutes.

Andromeda had refused to speak to her since Bellatrix struck her, and Bellatrix is beginning to grow tired of the silent treatment. Andromeda stared out the train window, in stubborn silence, watching the world flash by.

“Andromeda,” Bellatrix tried. Nothing. “Are you worried about the sorting?” Silence. “How long are planning on ignoring me?” Andromeda shrugged her shoulders.

“You are becoming like father in more ways than one,” Andromeda finally said, breaking the silence. Bellatrix stiffened.

“That isn’t true!” Bellatrix felt her cheeks flush with anger. There was a long, hard silence. Bellatrix took a deep breath. She had to learn to control her temper. “Father should have never given you the final lesson. You clearly can’t handle it. I hear he isn’t planning to give it to Narcissa, after how bad of a time you’ve had with it,” Bellatrix sneered.

Andromeda smiled. “Good. She doesn’t need to see that.” Bellatrix crossed her arms. That might be true. Narcissa was delicate.

“Hm,” is all Bellatrix added. After a few more minutes of silence, Bellatrix spoke again. “I know the final lesson bothered you. It should. It should serve as a reminder, or perhaps motivation. But not a constant, terrifying presence.” It was the best comfort she could provide, and the only comfort she knew how to.

Andromeda frowned. “I suppose we will see how good of a motivator fear will be.” With that, Andromeda stood, making her way toward the door.

“What do you mean by that?” Bellatrix spit, angrily. Andromeda didn’t answer. She left the compartment, leaving Bellatrix to sit alone, listening to the sound of the train on the tracks.

Anger rose like an uncontrollable, chaotic wind, a catastrophic storm, deep within her; acrimony churning like a tempest. For as long as Bellatrix could remember, it was always like this, a rush of emotions so intense and so hellacious; it was all-consuming. It was all she could do, to clench her fists, taking deep breaths, praying to Circe she could restrain the fomenting anger.

A figure came into her compartment, without knocking. Rodolphus.

“You look like you’re an owl’s wing away from a conniption.” His tone was rife with cold, detached amusement.

“I am. Make yourself scarce,” Bellatrix snapped, her fingernails digging into her clenched palms.

“I can teach you to make it go away,” Rodolphus offered.

“What?” Bellatrix reached up to massage her temples.

“I can teach you to shut down. So you don’t feel anything. That’s what I do. I never feel angry, sad, upset. I feel nothing.” Rodolphus sat down, taking Andromeda’s seat. Bellatrix hesitated. That did sound appealing, a rush of numb, cool, apathy. But, Bellatrix didn’t trust Rodolphus.

“No. I’m okay.”

Rodolphus raised a single brow, looking impossibly older than a mere thirteen years. He reminded her of her father. “I see,” the only thing he said, as he regarded her.

Bellatrix knew that perhaps she ought to thank him for the offer. She did not. Rodolphus tilted his head, studying her. Then, he stood. “Rowle, Travers, and I are sitting near the back of the train. You are to come find us, when you’ve calmed yourself.” An order, laced with a threat. Bellatrix snapped her eyes up to his, a hot, burning fire behind them.

“I’ll find you. If _I_ want to, if _I_ please. Hold your tongue, Lestrange.” Bellatrix stood, and pushed him out of her compartment. He didn’t look surprised, he didn’t look chastised, he didn’t even look angry. He just nodded his head, coolly, before turning and walking away.

“As you wish, _Bella_.” Bellatrix was going to tell him not to call her that, but he was already closing the compartment door behind him and walking toward the back of the train.

Bellatrix hated Rodolphus. He made her uncomfortable, and he made her afraid. It was irrational, she knew, to be scared of a boy her own age, who had never done anything to her. She thought about telling her father, that Rodolphus bothered her. But, what would she say? Rodolphus never said anything other than mild teasing, or casual remarks. How could she explain, that no matter what he said, Bellatrix was always worried he was out to get her?

Bellatrix felt a burning in her hand, and turned to look at her palm, and noticed her fingernails had left several small cuts, shaped like crescent moons, that now decorated her thin, white scar. Bellatrix wondered, if she really was such an awful sister.

Bellatrix waited almost forty-five minutes before she went to find her friends, walking into the compartment with her head held high. Rodolphus was reading a book when she entered and did not acknowledge her presence. Marcion and Sinis nodded at her, and Sinis gestured to the seat beside him.

Bellatrix sat down, and asked, “What new electives are you considering taking?”

Sinis shrugged. “I don’t know. I was waiting to see what the three of you had decided.”

Rodolphus looked up from his book. “Always a follower, never a leader. Hm, Sinis?” Sinis looked at his dress shoes, flushing. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Some are born to lead, others to follow. It is the natural order of things.” Sinis nodded but didn’t comment.

Bellatrix decided to ignore Rodolphus, and said, “Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. They are the only acceptable options.”

Marcion nodded. “True. I mean, Dippet put in a Muggle Studies class. How execrable.”

Sinis crossed his arms. “I heard of that. My father wrote the school, but it appears nothing can be done. I guess, Bellatrix is right. We haven’t got much of a choice.”

Bellatrix sighed, wrinkling her nose. “I suppose Divination or Care of Magical Creatures would be passable, but everyone knows those are the classes you take when you don’t have the intelligence required for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.”

Rodolphus looked at her and Bellatrix avoided his gaze. “I agree,” he intoned, before returning to his book, which on closer examination, Bellatrix saw it was a biography on Herpo the Foul. She wondered, whether Rodolphus might let her borrow it, and if it would wound her pride too much to ask. She decided that, yes, it would. Rodolphus never did a favor for free, and Bellatrix would hate to be in his debt, even over something as silly as a book.

Sinis turned to her. “Isn’t your sister attending Hogwarts this year?” Bellatrix sighed.

“Yes. Andromeda.”

Marcion smiled. “And why hasn’t she come to say hello?”

Bellatrix shrugged a shoulder. “She didn’t want to.”

The rest of the ride is filled with conversation about school, classes, teachers, and the like.

That night, Bellatrix sat at the feast, next to Sinis, and across from Marcion and Rodolphus. She saw the first years come in, and audibly groaned when she saw her sister, deep in conversation with Molly Prewett. Rodolophus followed her gaze. “Ah. The daughter of the rebel Prewetts. What great friends your sister has made.” Bellatrix wanted to sink low into her seat.

Marcion rolled his eyes. “Rodolphus. One side of the Prewett family has slightly more liberal views than the rest of us. That’s hardly cause for ridicule. She could be talking to a Weasley.”

Linnea Prewett, who was seated a few seats down, said, “Yes, please, Lestrange. Do not judge us by the decisions of my Uncle. We are just as perturbed as you, if not more.”

Rodolphus ignored her, and turned to Bellatrix, saying, “My brother will be sorted as well.” Bellatrix looked at him, surprised.

“Rabastan? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Rodolphus didn’t answer and merely pointed to a boy standing next to Pyris Wilkes, and her cousin, Evan Rosier. Evan caught her eye and gave her a solemn nod. Bellatrix didn’t acknowledge him. She would congratulate him, after the sorting. She barely paid attention to the Sorting Hat’s song, devoting the time to examine her fingernails.

Bellatrix watched with little interest as an Abbot was sorted into Hufflepuff and waited for her sister’s name to be called. Soon, enough Andromeda stepped forward, and although her face was schooled into polite excitement, Bellatrix knew her well enough to discern that she was nervous.

The Sorting Hat was placed on Andromeda’s head, and then—nothing. There was nearly ten seconds of silence. Bellatrix felt sick. She prayed to Circe that Andromeda wouldn’t end up in Hufflepuff or worse, Gryffindor. Ravenclaw might be passable to her father, but only just barely. Then, thank every deity, the hat shouted “SLYTHERIN!”

Bellatrix sighed in relief and Sinis patted her on the back. “See? There you go, nothing to worry about. She knows where she belongs,” he assured her. Bellatrix watched as Andromeda turned to Prewett, giving her an unsure look. Bellatrix sneered, but her sneer fades as, instead of glaring at Andromeda like Bellatrix had expected, Molly Prewett gave Andromeda a bright smile, mouthing, “Congratulations!”

Andromeda seemed acquiesced by this and walked toward Slytherin’s table. Her eyes landed on Bellatrix and looked to be debating something. After a few moments, Andromeda slides into the seat that Bellatrix had moved over to provide her.

Andromeda watched the rest of the sorting and is the only one at their table to clap for every student. It drives Bellatrix mad. Andromeda even smiled at Molly Prewett, as she joined the Gryffindor table. Rabastan, who was sorted into Slytherin, wasn’t doing that sort of thing. He clapped for the Slytherins only, and better yet, only for the Slytherins with good names. Bellatrix was sure to congratulate Wilkes and Evan when they sat down.

Rodolphus turned to his brother and whispered something in his ear. Rabastan gave a single nod, and Bellatrix couldn’t help but wonder what they were discussing.

The food appeared, and Bellatrix watched Andromeda play with her food rather than eat it. Bellatrix leaned down, and whispered, “What did the hat say?” Andromeda shrugged.

“It said I was a Slytherin through and through,” Andromeda said, sounding morose. Bellatrix grinned.

“Excellent. Why did it take so long then?”

“Oh. I was begging it to put me somewhere else instead. But, it convinced me to pick Slytherin.” Andromeda took a sip of her pumpkin juice and turned to look at Bellatrix. Bellatrix nervously looked around but saw no one was paying her and her sister any mind.

“It had to convince you? Andromeda!” Bellatrix shook her head. “What on earth did it say to convince you? Tell me so I can thank it,” Bellatrix grumbled.

“It said Slytherin needed witches like me,” Andromeda said, standing. She turned to address Bellatrix’s friends, and said, “It was lovely to meet you all. Thank you.” Bellatrix watched, in horror, as her sister made her way down the Slytherin table, to sit with a few lesser-purebloods, and half-bloods Bellatrix didn’t even know the names of. Lesser purebloods were alright, Bellatrix supposed, though they may not be as esteemed as her family and friends. But the half-bloods? That was inexcusable, really.

Bellatrix sighed and placed her head in her hands, feeling lost. Bellatrix had spent the last two years faithfully building her reputation, and it seemed Andromeda would ruin the Black name before the term was up.

That night, as Bellatrix headed to the common room, Sinis turned to her, looking bothered by her sour expression. “Come on, Bellatrix. It’s not that big of a deal. She isn’t going to be labeled a blood traitor for hanging around a few half-bloods.” True enough. Most of the families wouldn’t care. Most. But her own? Her family, especially her father and her uncle, weren’t going to stand for it.

Bellatrix sat inside the common room, waiting for Andromeda to walk in, rehearsing in her head what she would say to her, trying to quell the ire that was already simmering. She saw Andromeda walk in, surrounded with her new disreputable connections, and Bellatrix caught her eye, conveying her message clearly: We need to talk. Andromeda sighed and nodded, before turning back to her friends, likely telling them she would catch up with them later. 

Andromeda strode over to Bellatrix, a slight frown on her face. “Bella, what is it?” Bellatrix grabbed her sister’s arm tightly, and drug her out of the common room, ignoring the glare a prefect sent their way. Bellatrix walked out of the common room and up the steps, until she reached the Dungeons, and pulled Andromeda into an empty classroom, locking the door.

Bellatrix whirled around to face her sister. “What is wrong with you,” she hissed. Andromeda looked stung.

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” Bellatrix crossed arms and leaned forward.

“I did what everyone wanted! I’ve been here barely a few hours! How can you already be angry?” Andromeda gave her a pleading sort of look. 

“You know what Father said! You can’t be friends with them.” Bellatrix watched as Andromeda scoffed and shook her head.

“Fine. If you disapprove of the connections, write Father and tell him that I’m already a disappointment. We both know you were itching to do it anyway, and now you can.”

Bellatrix took a deep breath. She had to stay calm. “I’m not going to tell Father. I wouldn’t tell him unless it was something that was of greater consequence. I’m simply giving you advice. Whether or not you heed it—,” Bellatrix took a deep breath, “is your decision.” Andromeda looked stunned, her mouth dropping open a little, before she closed it quickly.

“Thanks,” Andromeda breathed, as though she couldn’t quite believe it. Her eyes narrowed in suspicions. “Why? This is—unlike you.”

Bellatrix reached back and twisted her heavy curls from her neck, trying to cool down. Stifling her anger was proving to be difficult, and cool air hitting her neck helped her calm herself. “It may be. But, despite what you seem to believe, I only want the best for you.” Andromeda stepped forward, cautiously, before wrapping her arms around Bellatrix.

“I love you,” she whispered, quietly. Bellatrix stiffened. She didn’t return the words, but she did give Andromeda a brief squeeze before stepping back.

“Let’s go. I don’t want detention.” Bellatrix led Andromeda back to the common room, keeping a watchful eye out for prefects on patrol, or any professors.

Bellatrix entered her dorm, ignoring the way the hushed whispers from the other girls she shared her dorm with immediately quieted with her presence. She dressed for bed, and when she pulled back the covers, she found the book Rodolphus had been reading on the train, poking out from under her pillow. She froze, her stomach rolling. Linnea Prewett looked over, and said, “Rodolphus told me to bring you that. Said you wanted to borrow it.”

Bellatrix didn’t answer. She grabbed the book and strode out of her dorm and down the stairs into the common room. She tossed the book in the dying flames of the hearth. On first appearances, that book might have been a nice gesture. Bellatrix knew better. The book was a message. _I’m watching you._


	19. Andromeda (1965): Questions and Inaction

Andromeda stood outside of Professor Binns’s office, nervously biting her lip. She had been preparing for this conversation for quite a while, rehearsing what she would say, turning the questions over in her mind. Finally, she raised her hand to knock.

Professor Binns drifted through the door instead of opening, looking a little surprised to see her. Andromeda wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t had a student come to visit him in his office since his death.

“Miss Black. What do you need?”

Andromeda swallowed nervously and brushed her hair out of her face. “I had a question of an academic nature.”

Professor Binns continued to look at her impassively, but glided back through his door with a gesture to follow him. Andromeda tried to open the door, but it was locked.

“Professor Binns? The door is locked!” Andromeda nervously looked around, wanting Professor Binns to let her in the classroom before anyone saw. However, Professor Binns did not seem to realize what had happened, and did not come out to aid her, despite her knocking and calls for him to let her in.

Just then, Professor Dumbledore came around the corner. Andromeda locked eyes with her Transfiguration professor, before deciding now was a very good time to exit the corridor promptly. She turned on her heel, attempting to make a mad dash to the library, where she had promised to meet Molly earlier. However, Dumbledore called out to her, saying, “Miss Black. Are you having trouble getting a hold of Professor Binns?” Andromeda froze and slowly turned around.

“Yes sir. I wanted to ask him a question, but it appears he is quite busy, or unavailable. I’ll be on my way.” Andromeda quickly tried to make her escape, turning around and making it a few more steps before he called for her again.

“Miss Black?”

Andromeda stopped, cursing to herself, before slowly rotating on the spot, staring at her neat, mary janes. “Sir?”

“What was your question? I can, perhaps, help you. That is, if it wasn’t a question that you wish to remain private.” Andromeda bit her lip and considered his offer.

“It pertains to History of Magic, sir. It’s not really…,” she trailed off. She didn’t want to offend him by suggesting that he did not have sufficient knowledge to answer her question. She had no doubt that he would be able to provide her with an answer. But, she needed an honest answer, with no agenda, no bias, and no ulterior motive. She wasn’t quite sure she could trust Dumbledore to give her one. He had a reputation among the students of her house, as being quite nosy, always trying to challenge their beliefs. She needed him to give her the truth, not what he thought would change her mind.

“I think you’ll find I know a bit about the subject,” Professor Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. Andromeda sighed, relenting.

“Thank you, sir. Um—,” she hesitated, “Would it be alright to talk in private?” She saw her cousin Evan give her a strange look and fidgeted nervously. Professor Dumbledore followed her gaze.

“I see.” He gave her a small smile, before placing a hand on her shoulder, steering her to the door. Andromeda walked with him and Evan gave her a sympathetic look as they passed, likely thinking she had gotten in some sort of trouble. Then, he turned and hurried off, likely to tell Bellatrix her sister was in for it with Professor Dumbledore. Privacy was a luxury in Slytherin house. Everyone was always watching.

Dumbledore led her to his office, and Andromeda hurried in, ducking under his arm. He entered after her, closing the door behind him, and turning the lock. He walked across the room and took a seat behind his desk, and nodded his head, indicating that Andromeda could sit opposite him. Andromeda hesitated before taking her seat and looked down at her shoes. Dumbledore folded his hands, a polite expression on his face, clearly waiting for her to begin. She didn’t.

He reached over and grabbed a stack of essays and began to mark them, saying, “Whenever you are ready. I have no tight schedule this afternoon. I will get a few of these essays done, if you please. They never seem to end, you know.”

“You assign them,” Andromeda said, without thinking, before covering her mouth in shock at her comment. Dumbledore, however, didn’t seem offended.

“True,” he said with a laugh. “If I do not assign them, students will not learn. It is the bane of my teaching career, I’m afraid.” Andromeda didn’t answer.

After a few minutes, however, when she could hold back no longer, she blurted, “I want to know about the witch burnings.”

Professor Dumbledore set down the essay he was working on, which looked heavily marked, and his quill, before looking up at her, a gentle, encouraging expression on his face.

“Oh? And what about the witch burnings?” He looked at her, though not expectantly, nor impatiently. Andromeda glanced at the door.

“Professor Binns said that witch burnings were pointless, that they had little effect on witches and wizards. Is that true?” The words were rushed, hurried, and Andromeda flinched slightly, when she finished.

Dumbledore folded his hands again, and said, “That happens to be a very good question. Thank you for asking.” Andromeda blinked, slightly taken aback.

“Now, I suppose, that, naturally, you have been told something contradictory. Would I be correct in assuming that?” Andromeda nodded, not wanting to speak again.

“There are varied opinions on this subject, but the general academic consensus, is, in large, in line with Professor Binns’s statement. However, I will make an admission, that several good witches and wizards were imprisoned and sentenced to death. That is a fact, one that cannot be ignored. Our own Sir Nicholas, or as you may know him, Nearly Headless Nick, was a victim.” Andromeda was surprised he would even admit to it, expecting him to fervently deny that there was ever any cause for worry, or cite Wendelin the Weird, as many progressive wizards did. She expected him to talk about flame-freezing charms, and how any competent witch and wizard could have cast them.

“Now, violence against witches and wizards took other forms, though burning being the most prevalent. If there wasn’t any violence, any cause for concern, why would witches and wizards have to hide? Why, there would be no reason for the Statute of Secrecy. Why would witches and wizards have bothered creating it, if there wasn’t cause?” Andromeda drew in a sharp breath.

“Then, sir. Why? Why let them come here? Why have us study them? Why—” Andromeda paused, wondering how much she should reveal to this man. “Just why?” Andromeda finished her question, lamely.

“Wizards and Witches often hurt muggles, Andromeda. Can I call you Andromeda?” Andromeda hesitated, before nodding. “Andromeda, what you have to understand is, tension was building. Yes, muggles hurt our kind, brutally, even. But, we did the same. I think you know that. What you are asking, in reality, to put it simply, is who started it?” Andromeda flinched, the words sounding childish and petty to her own ears, but it was exactly what she wanted to know.

“Andromeda, I do not know. Historians do not know. No one knows. The tension was simply a force that snuck up quietly, and by the time anyone sought to correct it, it was far too late. The rift, in many people’s opinion, was simply irreparable. Do you think it matters, who started it?”

Andromeda paused. She had been sitting on these thoughts for years, desperate to squash them down, desperate to rid herself of conflict. “No,” she whispered, the word feeling as if it was wrenched from her very soul, from the darkest parts of her being, from the part of herself she had desperately tried to hide.

“I agree, Andromeda. What is wrong, is wrong. Violence, pain, hurting others, in the name of fear, or in the name of power, is egregious. Hiding ourselves, is not just about protecting the wizards from the muggles, it is about protecting muggles from the wizards. All who have wronged our kind are long dead. They can do no evil, and no vengeance can be exacted against them. It would be pointless, and unhealthy to harbor hate for it. It is better to peacefully coexist.”

“But you let them come here.” Andromeda whispered, in a curious tone, rather than a hateful one.

“No, Andromeda. They are witches and wizards, just as you and me. They can do magic, some better than many of your friends.” Andromeda screwed her eyes shut, trying not to cry, wishing she could block out what she knew to be true. She wanted to believe Dumbledore, but she was afraid of what would happen when she did. On one hand, she hated the way her family talked, hated the constant, ever-present odium hanging over her, oppressive in its presence, burdensome in its weight. The answers, the truth, could set her free. But, if everything she had ever been taught, everything the ones she loved stood for, was wrong, then what was she to do?

Dumbledore paused, as if debating something, before saying, “Andromeda, the decision is yours to make. I cannot make it for you. But I will tell you this: Hate always leads to destruction. If that is the path you choose, then understand there is no freedom for you. You are a servant, with hate your master.”

Andromeda opened her eyes and found a pair of startling blue ones staring at her, almost coaxing. She stood, wondering whether she should run away, or whether she should sit back down.

“Andromeda, why did you want to ask me these questions? Questions, that I think you and I would agree, you already knew the answer to,” Dumbledore asked, softly, leaning forward.

Andromeda backed toward the door, her hands shaking and her throat dry. “Because I can’t!” she very near wailed. She couldn’t muster, though she tried, the hate and animosity, the cold detachment, the will live up to expectation after expectation.

Dumbledore looked like he understood what she meant, though her words were vague. He gave her a small smile and said the words that would haunt her in the years to come. “Then don’t.”

Andromeda sat next to Molly in the library, studying for Charms in companionable silence. Occasionally, Molly would glower at her book, and Andromeda would watch her face smooth into a pleased expression once she sorted out what she must not have understood.

It had been two months since her conversation with Professor Dumbledore, and she chose, that in the midst of the decision, whether she come to terms with the truth that she knew in her heart, or continue with the comfort of the lies, to simply, not decide. She had time to think it over, time to evaluate what was important, and what was worth loosing, her family or her freedom. As for now, she could focus on Charms.

Molly threw her book down, sighing. “I need a break.”

Andromeda glanced up, and said, “Okay.” She had near perfect grades in Charms anyway.

Just then, Andromeda watched as her sister came around the corner, flanked by her usual pack of boys. Bellatrix didn’t see her, which Andromeda was grateful for; Bellatrix hated when Andromeda was spending time with Molly.

Molly frowned, and said “Where is Lestrange?”

Andromeda noticed that Rodolphus was unusually absent from the group, and she shrugged, saying, “I don’t know. I avoid him when I can.”

Molly giggled. “Smart choice. He is the worst of them, you know.” Andromeda had to agree. There was something about Rodolphus that was more sinister than the others.

Andromeda watched with a sick feeling, as Bellatrix cornered Winnie Ferguson, who was bent over her Transfiguration textbook, brow furrowed in concentration. When she realized who she had caught the attention of, however, she blanched at the sight of Bellatrix walking toward her, a cruel expression on her face.

“Ferguson. I heard you failed the last Transfiguration exam. Is that true?” Winnie sunk low in her seat, as she began to toss her books and papers into her bag, no doubt preparing for an attempt to flee.

“Ugh. I take it back. Your sister may be worse,” Molly said, her expression full of disgust.

Bellatrix continued; her tone filled with false sweetness. “It’s almost as if, dare I say, you aren’t meant to be here. It’s as if you cannot do the magic required. It must be sad, really. To know you are a fraud.”

Molly stood. “I’m going over there.”

Andromeda leapt to her feet, reaching for her friend. “Molly, no! Please don’t.” Molly shrugged her off, ignoring her, as she strode to the tables.

“Really, Bellatrix? Ferguson could wipe the floor with you in Charms. You know it’s true.” Molly said, stopping in front of Bellatrix and crossing her arms. Andromeda had hurried after her, attempting to stop her, and now, was in Bellatrix’s line of sight, enduring a cold glare from her sister.

“Prewett, don’t tell me you are sticking up for the mudblood!” Bellatrix scoffed, a look of outrage on her face. Andromeda debated walking out of the library, leaving Molly and her sister to their disagreement, while she went to her dorm to hide.

“I do see something filthy. And it isn’t Winnie.” Bellatrix’s face contorted into a nasty sneer and Andromeda reached forward, tugging on Molly’s robes.

“Molly, let’s leave. Please.” Molly ignored her plea, and Andromeda felt tears prick the back of her eyes.

“Yes, Prewett. Listen to Andromeda. Leave,” Bellatrix said, crossing her arms, and taking a challenging step forward.

Andromeda hoped Molly would back down, leave, maybe. Winne had finished collecting her things and had hurried out of the library, clearly embarrassed at being the center of attention. “I think you’re the one who should leave. Better yet, why don’t you leave Hogwarts? The truth is, no one, besides those two dogs that follow you around, want you here. Everyone hates you.”

“Molly,” breathed Andromeda, shocked at her outburst. Bellatrix’s lip curled and her dark eyes blazed with an awful fire.

Bellatrix laughed, a cruel, mean laugh. “Oh, what? And, let me guess, you think people like you? I hear everyone in your house is tired of having to make extra space for you. I mean, you’re quite large, a bit of a lard-arse if you ask me.”

“Bellatrix!” Andromeda gasped, looking from her friend to her sister with an anxious expression. Bellatrix’s words weren’t true. Molly was hardly fat, perhaps a little curvy, but a far cry from obese. That’s what made this argument so terrible, in truth. Bellatrix’s insults weren’t true, but Molly’s were.

“What Andromeda? You can’t possibly be taking her side in this! You know the truth. You know what Ferguson is. A swine,” Bellatrix declared. Andromeda bristled, her throat going dry.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I don’t know. All I know, is that there was a girl studying, and you chose to seek her out and attempt to embarrass her. That wasn’t kind,” Andromeda stated, plainly, calmly. Bellatrix needed to leave. Andromeda could sort this out with her later.

“Are you seriously doing this? Here, now, in front of everyone, you are telling me, that you believe Ferguson actually deserves to be here, to sit among us?” Bellatrix turned to her with an expression of anger and betrayal on her face. Andromeda swore she could feel the old scar in her palm ache, as if reminding her of her promise.

Molly gave Bellatrix a smug grin. “I think she is. Even your own sister can’t stomach your prejudiced drivel.” Bellatrix was fuming, glowering at Andromeda. Andromeda looked toward the door, wistfully. If she walked out now, perhaps she could make it back to the common room, leave this mess behind. She didn’t want to choose, and she shouldn’t have to.

“No, Prewett. I want to hear her say it. I want to admit, that she is a nasty little blood traitor. Or, she can forget about this, and walk out of the library with me. Your choice, _sister._ ” The word flies out of Bellatrix’s mouth, dripping with venom; it is both a reminder and a challenge.

Molly looks to her expectantly, almost pleadingly. Andromeda never wanted it to come to this, but, it seems, now, she has to choose. Or, she can turn and run out of the library. I mean, really, who is stopping her?

Andromeda made a choice, not to decide. She turned and fled, leaving both her sister and Molly standing there, calling after her, her school things abandoned in the library. She raced out of the library and ran, toward the dungeons. A few of her friends called out to her, wondering where she was off to in such a hurry. Tears were streaming down her face as she tore down the steps and hastily muttered the password to enter the common room.

It was mostly empty, for which she was grateful for. She climbed the steps to her dorm on shaky legs and threw herself down upon her bed, waiting for more tears to come. Surprisingly, they did not; rather they hovered just behind her eyes, ready to spill over her eyelids, but unable to.

A few moments later, her sister burst in, furious and almost frenzied. “Andromeda! What in Circe’s name was that little display?” Bellatrix’s chest was heaving, and her fists were clenched at her side. Andromeda, with growing horror, also realized there were tears in her eyes.

“Bellatrix, that was unfair. You didn’t need to ask me to do that; to choose,” Andromeda pleaded, begging for her sister to understand.

“I didn’t think I was asking you to choose. I thought you had already decided. We have a commitment, to uphold the honor and tradition of our name, and you are telling me, that you are suddenly wavering on this? After everything Father has taught us?” There was a long, charged silence, and Bellatrix’s voice cracked, wavered, as she said, “Are you wavering on me?”

Andromeda winced at her sister’s words, her stomach twisting into knots as she began shake. She was going to try, try to communicate to her sister what she was feeling, try to get her to see. “Bellatrix, this has nothing to do with you. You have to know that. I love our family. I love you, Narcissa, Mother, Father, everyone. But, I’m starting to wonder—” Andromeda stopped, wondering what to say, where to go from here. “I’m starting to wonder if Father might be mistaken,” Andromeda said carefully.

Bellatrix stared at her, as if she were seeing her for the first time. Andromeda could tell that Bellatrix did not like what she saw. “Mistaken? How could you, after everything we have seen, after seeing the final lesson, possibly think that he is mistaken?”

“I know that. Muggles did hurt witches and wizards. But, witches and wizards hurt muggles too. And Ferguson can do magic, just as you and I. I just don’t see the reason—”

“Don’t see the reason?” Bellatrix shot. “The reason, is that for centuries our kind was persecuted against, and now, we live in hiding, like rats in a hole! And you want to bring them here? Into our school? Our lives? Our homes? They shouldn’t be here, and we shouldn’t have to hide!”

“She isn’t hurting anyone. Just let her be, Bellatrix.”

“Let her be? She is scum, filth, and beneath me. Beneath you, Andromeda. She isn’t fit to walk the halls of this school. You’ve seen what muggles will do to us. And if you want your skin to melt off your very bones, then by all means, keep defending her!”

“There hasn’t been a witch killed by a muggle in centuries. Don’t you think it’s time to move on, let things go? I’m not excusing anyone’s actions. But, we can’t change the past, so we might as well look forward.”

“Move on? No. I don’t. I won’t move on, until my people, the people I care about, can live free in this world without threat of violence. You are either with us, our family, the other families we are loyal to, or you are against us. I hope, when you do decide, you decide to stand with your family, your blood, Andromeda.” With that, Bellatrix stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind her.

Andromeda took a deep breath, burying her head into the pillows. She tried for a long time to gather the hate, the animosity that everyone in her family could call so readily. Instead, she came up with the answer that terrified her to her very core. She didn’t hate. Couldn’t. And that, was very dangerous.


	20. Narcissa (1966): The Last to Arrive

Narcissa stood in her father’s study, while he gestured for her to have a seat. She did so, sitting across from him in the familiar arm chair. She knew, that at last, it was time for the final lesson. Her father had waited an awfully long time to give it to her, but she knew that now was the time she had been waiting her. She thought of Andromeda, who had been sick for days, and squirmed in her seat, while her father gave her a small smile.

“My, you’ve gotten tall Narcissa,” her father commented with a smile. Narcissa glowed with pride at his comment. It was true. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was one of the taller girls in her year. “Black women are always tall. You may have your mother’s fair looks, but your height, that is what makes you a Black.” Narcissa sat up straighter, smiling at her father.

“Father, is it time for the final lesson?” Narcissa asked, relaxed slightly by her father’s good mood.

“No, no. After Andromeda, I decided it isn’t really necessary. You’re a young lady, Narcissa. It isn’t your place to be subjected to such an ordeal,” her father dismissed. Narcissa was torn between being relieved that she did not have to face the horrors of the final lesson, and disappointed that she would be excluded from something her sisters had both experienced. “No, Narcissa. I called you in here to discuss Hogwarts with you. Just a few rules and expectations you ought to be aware of.”

Narcissa nodded and leaned forward, excited as always, to discuss anything related to Hogwarts. She could hardly wait until the day she boarded the train and left for school alongside her sisters.

“I just wanted you to be sure you understand that I would far prefer you to be sorted into Slytherin. You wouldn’t want to be the one to break tradition, now would you?” Her father gave her a cold smile, and Narcissa gave a single, graceful nod.

“Of course, Father,” Narcissa insisted earnestly.

“Good. I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about you. See, with Bellatrix, she was the first, so I had to really get my point across. And, you know how Andromeda is. Difficult. She has always been so. But, you, well. You are my sweet, little Narcissa. You would never do anything to betray the old ways.” Narcissa nods, pleased.

“Just be sure that you do well in your classes, make good marks, and stay away from any friends that wouldn’t be good for our reputation.”

“Of course, Father,” Narcissa said, as her father waves his hand, telling her she is dismissed. Narcissa stands, exiting her father’s study with a smile. She would leave for Hogwarts in just a week, and she couldn’t be more excited.

However, something was troubling her. She had noticed, ever since her sisters had arrived home for the summer, that there seemed to be a rift in their relationship. They hardly spoke, unless it was to insult the other, or make passive-aggressive, cutting remarks. Try as Narcissa did to mend it, they would not speak.

Narcissa knew they would be visiting her Uncle Orion tonight and she woefully lamented the loss of a beautiful summer evening, where she might have coaxed her sisters to walk in the orchard with her or read on the balcony together.

Narcissa passed Andromeda’s room and poked her head in. Andromeda, per usual, was reading thick history books and other strange books with the titles scratched off. She would have them all open on the bed before her, and dart from one to the other, as though fervently searching for something.

“Why are the titles scratched off your books?” Narcissa asked, startling Andromeda, causing her to jump and slam the book she had been looking at closed. Narcissa raised an eyebrow, and when Andromeda realized it was only her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Narcissa. You frightened me,” Andromeda said, smiling. “Come in. Close the door.” Narcissa did so, careful to shut the door quietly.

“I frightened you because you are doing something you ought not to. That’s why you’re on-edge,” Narcissa said pointedly. Andromeda didn’t look worried, however. She smirked at Narcissa.

“Perceptive as ever, Cissy.”

Narcissa frowned. “You also scratched the titles and authors off of your books. Which is suspicious, if you ask me. Father won’t be fooled,” she warned.

Andromeda’s smirk faded. “No. He won’t. Which is why, we aren’t going to tell him, and we aren’t going to tell Bellatrix.”

Narcissa sighed and crossed the room, sinking into a bergère in the corner of Andromeda’s room. “Sisters aren’t supposed to have secrets.” It was true. Bellatrix, Andromeda, and she used to share every thought, every choice, every fear, every hope. Now, Bellatrix and Andromeda wouldn’t even share a kind glance.

“Sisters also aren’t to tattle to fathers,” Andromeda said, darkly. That, really, is what had cemented the feud between her sisters. Bellatrix, had asked to see Father almost immediately after they returned from the platform for the summer holidays. Narcissa had seen the way all the color drained from Andromeda’s face, and the way her hands started to shake. Andromeda had run to her room, where she had been sick in the adjoining washroom, with Narcissa frantically trying to calm her sister, until Bellatrix had come in, wrinkling her nose, announcing Father had sent for Andromeda. Andromeda didn’t come out of Father’s study for nearly two hours. When she finally emerged, her face was tear-stained, and she looked frightened. She had spent most of the summer shut up in her room, looking positively miserable.

“Bellatrix shouldn’t have done that, but she is worried about you. We all are,” Narcissa pleaded. Andromeda shook her head.

“Don’t worry. Father took care of it,” Andromeda said, voice shaking.

“Then why are you hiding these books?”

“My Transfiguration professor gave them to me,” Andromeda dismissed, now walking around and collecting the books, until the made a sizeable stack.

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Dumbledore? Andromeda, no! You can’t be serious!” Their father hated Dumbledore, with a fervent passion. If he found out Dumbledore gave Andromeda reading material—Narcissa blanched at the thought.

“He is my professor, Narcissa. If he decides to assign readings, I can’t very well refuse,” Andromeda said, tossing the books in her school trunk, making sure to stow them away at the very bottom, and covering them with clothes and other schoolbooks.

“I don’t see what Transfiguration and History have to do with each other,” Narcissa muttered.

“Never you mind. Now, are you excited about starting Hogwarts?” Andromeda asked, changing the subject.

“Yes. I am. I’m a little nervous, I’ll admit.” Narcissa stood and walked to Andromeda’s closet, looking through her robes. “I mean, I’m glad I don’t have to be at home alone anymore, and I suppose I’m excited about finally being able to practice magic.”

Andromeda laughed. “Evaluating my fashion sense?”

“Yes. It’s dreadful.” Narcissa turned to her, giving her a small smile, to let her know all was said in jest.

Finally, Narcissa decided to ask what she had come to ask. “Andromeda, I want to know if you are thinking of becoming a blood traitor.” Andromeda froze, still crouched beside her trunk. She stood, finally, after a long silence. She came to stand in front of Narcissa, placing both hands on her sister’s shoulders, and giving her a steadfast look.

“No. I don’t want to defy Father. It’s just that—” Andromeda paused, searching for the words. “It’s just that the truth is important to me. Knowledge is important to me. I want to form my own opinions on things. But, I plan to keep those opinions quiet. I’d never voice them, Narcissa. Father reminded me of what is important.”

Narcissa breathed a soft sigh of relief. If Andromeda wanted to read history books full of lies and deceit, privately, and she kept it hidden, then she supposed that wasn’t a horrible crime. It was like her fairy tales. She had enjoyed them, but she would never let them interfere with her duty, or her good sense.

“Good. I’m glad. You should get ready, you know. We are due at Uncle’s in an hour.” Andromeda didn’t look happy about their evening plans, but it would be only for a few hours.

Narcissa left her sister’s room, crossing the hall and knocking on Bellatrix’s door. “Bellatrix, it’s me.” Bellatrix told her to come in, and Narcissa entered, shutting the door softly behind her.

Bellatrix was sitting at her desk by the window, studying, her eyes moving furiously over the page of textbook. She was already dressed for dinner that evening, wearing black as she always did. This time, however, her dress looked far more mature than anything she had ever worn before. Narcissa realized, with a little bit of surprise, her sister was starting her fifth year in just a few weeks’ time. Her sister had also put her hair up, an impressive feat considering her thick curls.

“I came to ask how you’re studying is going.” Bellatrix would be taking the O.W.L.S this school year, and she had been preparing all summer, nearly excessively, with an almost manic energy.

“Fine. I’m working on Charms,” was Bellatrix’s curt reply, and she lifted her wand, practicing a movement, but unable to do any magic. “Father says, in the time of the Druids, there was no restriction on underage sorcery. If that were true today, think of how advanced I’d be by now,” Bellatrix complained. 

“You’re first in your year, are you not?” Narcissa asked, peering at Bellatrix’s Charms textbook.

“Second. Lestrange has got me. He cheats, however. So, really, I am.”

“You should tell on him, then,” Narcissa indignantly replied. Here her sister was, working impossibly hard, and Lestrange was cheating!

“I would, but it’s best not to tangle with Lestrange,” Bellatrix murmured, before closing her eyes, dropping her wand to her side. This surprise Narcissa. Bellatrix didn’t back down from a challenge. Not ever. Bellatrix turned to her and grinned. “I’ll just have to cheat as well, and better than he can.” Narcissa shook her head.

“I wanted to speak with you,” Narcissa began, and Bellatrix groaned, crossing the room to check her reflection in the mirror, though she was getting a little tall for it, and the top of her hair was cut off. Bellatrix began applying makeup, something Narcissa had never seen her do before.

“I thought I told you to stop pestering me about Andromeda,” Bellatrix said, darkening her lashes.

“She told me today that Father set her straight! She said she never would and was never planning to do anything to jeopardize our family name,” Narcissa pleaded, watching as Bellatrix carefully added rouge to her cheeks.

“I know that. Father would never let her get away with something like that.”

“Then why do you continue this pointless feud? It is ridiculous.”

Bellatrix sighed, setting down her lipstick. She turned to Narcissa. “If I say this, you must swear to never, and I mean never tell Andromeda. I’ll hex you until you cry if you do. Understand?” Narcissa nodded. Bellatrix didn’t mean it. She wouldn’t really hurt her. “I’m mad, because at school, she barely talks to me. I try to talk to her, and she ignores me. She prefers to devote her time to nasty blood-traitors like Prewett, and those filthy Slytherin half-bloods she spends her time with. It’s detestable, really.”

Ah. Bellatrix felt replaced. Narcissa knew, that Bellatrix typically had a very difficult time making friends with other girls her age, due mostly in part, to the fact that she was incredibly difficult to get along with. Bellatrix depended on Narcissa and Andromeda for female companionship and she felt neglected by Andromeda’s distance. Narcissa sighed at the thought.

“Andromeda has always been withdrawn. Far more than you or me. Mother says she takes pride in gaining independence. Mother told me, quite plainly, that it is a phase. Besides, Andromeda will come around. She always does,” Narcissa assured, before walking to her sister, and wrapping her arms around her. Bellatrix stiffened, but hugged her back, briefly.

“Leave. I can’t study when you come in here distracting me,” Bellatrix said, pushing her away. Narcissa smiled, amused at her sister’s discomfort, before heading to her own room.

She looked in her closet, debating what to wear, before pulling out robes of a deep purple, that to her, was reminiscent of royalty.

That night, as they were all sitting around the table, with Bellatrix openly glowering Siris, as her put his mashed potatoes in his spoon, and shot it, like a catapult, narrowly missing Bellatrix’s head.

“That’s it. I’m going to kill him,” hissed Bellatrix, her hand straying to her wand. Narcissa’s eyes widened, and she grabbed her sister’s arm.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“You cannot kill the eldest son of the Black line. Bellatrix, that would be a sin of unimaginable proportions.”

“Oh, relax! I wasn’t really going to.”

Their mother gave a delicate cough, and her eyes flitted to them, just barely, before returning her attention to listening quietly as Orion and Cygnus talked. Narcissa watched her parents carefully, as she always did when they were together. Her mother watched her father dutifully, laughing at the appropriate times, and nodding her head. Narcissa didn’t know why it mattered. It wasn’t as if Father paid any attention to her, his attention focused entirely on Orion, and occasionally his sister, who seemed to be at more liberty to speak than her mother. Narcissa imagined her father turning to her mother, placing his hand over hers, and asking what she thought about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. She shook her head, remembering what her mother had said. It would do her no good to be caught up in useless fantasy.

Regulus was watching his father talk, dutifully, while Siris was eyeing the pudding in the middle of the table, likely thinking of ways to set it on fire. Siris reached forward, but his mother caught his wrist tightly in her fist, shoving it back down in his lap.

“I do not have the patience to be your constant entertainment. Girls?” Narcissa watched as her aunt turned to her and her sisters, as always, using them as babysitters, desperate for respite from her turbulent son.

Andromeda stood, smiling. She, for whatever mad reason, was fond of Siris. “I’ll take him. Come on, Siris. Show me that toy you mentioned earlier.” Siris, with an impressive amount of speed, leaped from his seat and went tearing for the door, grabbing Andromeda, and pulling her after him.

“Narcissa,” her uncle said, surprising her from her thoughts.

“Yes, Uncle?” Narcissa asked politely.

“Are you excited about starting school?”

“Yes, sir. Very much so.

Her uncle nodded, satisfied, and continued to talk to her father. Bellatrix took a sip of her water, eyeing her mother’s wine. Narcissa followed her gaze, frowning.

“Well, did you hear, what your wife’s brother had to say? About their old school friend?” Uncle Orion asked her father, leaning forward. Narcissa saw her mother tense, her face losing its color, before she quickly schooled her expression into a serene smile.

“I did, I did. Although, speaking with the lot of them, you know, Lestrange, Avery, Mulciber, I can’t decide what I think of it,” her father said, sighing.

“Well, Walburga is intrigued most definitely, and I must admit, I am to. This Riddle fellow, they say he has high political aspirations.”

“I did not get that impression. They say, he works at Borgin and Burkes, no? That is hardly an esteemed career choice,” her father counters.

“No, no. Avery told me he actually wanted to teach at Hogwarts but was told he was to young by Dippet. I think, now that Dumbledore is headmaster, he plans to ask again soon,” Uncle Orion protested, an excited look in his eye.

“Bah! Don’t even get me started on the absolute insult that is. Why Slughorn was not considered for the position, I will never know. He is an excellent teacher. Surely, given his past record, the Ministry must know what a risk that is,” her father complained, banging his fist on the table.

Narcissa stared at her father, flinching at the sudden animosity in his voice, though not from surprise. Narcissa didn’t like loud noises.

Finally, after some weeks later, the great day, the day Narcissa had been waiting for, for the past four years, had finally come. Narcissa stood on the platform, waving goodbye to her parents, before turning to her sisters.

“Where are we going to sit?” she asked, looking at each of them, expectantly. Andromeda and Bellatrix shared a quick look.

“Andromeda will either sit with those beneath her, or blood-traitors. I will be sitting with Lestrange, Rowle, and Travers. You can sit with me, but I do not think you would enjoy sitting with fifth years rather than those in your own year,” Bellatrix explained, throwing a dirty look Andromeda’s way.

Andromeda cleared her throat. “You are welcome to sit with me to, Narcissa. Though, I do think there is some truth to what Bellatrix is saying. It might be nice to try and meet some students in your year. But, if you are feeling shy, I’ll be glad to sit with you.” 

Narcissa was torn from her feelings being hurt, to excited that her sisters finally found something to agree on. She nodded, looking a little forlorn, until she noticed Aspasia Selwyn, waving her over, standing next to Nysa and Thalassa. She gave them a small, graceful smile, before walking to them, telling her sisters she would see them at the feast.

“Hello,” Thalassa greeted, giving Narcissa a polite nod of her head.

“We should board the train. I want to get a good compartment,” Nysa said, glancing anxiously at the train.

Aspasia wrinkled her nose, before saying, “Yes. I don’t want to end up sharing with anyone—undesirable.”

The three other girls nodded in agreement, looking anxiously at a group of rowdy Gryffindors, who were whooping and hollering as they boarded the train.

They found a compartment near the middle of the train, before filing in.

“Now, who do we know of, from The Families, who are going to be attending Hogwarts in our year?” asked Nysa, looking at each of them, clearly expecting a full report.

“Hyperion Greengrass, Corban Yaxley,” supplied Thalassa.

“I heard the Shafiq twins, Adalai and Anara were coming this year, though I haven’t seen them,” Aspasia commented, looking around, as if expecting them to pass by their compartment any second.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, though his family hasn’t attended an event in a long time. They are becoming like that nasty side of the Prewett family. Soon enough, they’ll join the Weasleys and the Potters, I expect,” sneered Nysa.

Narcissa made a face, disgusted with the very idea.

“It’s about the same number as last year. My brother, Haemon got sorted with Lucius Malfoy and Simon Flint. I do not remember the girls in the year above us. Perhaps there was a few Prewetts, but don’t hold me to that,” Aspasia said, tilting her head to the side, considering.

“Narcissa, isn’t your sister a prefect this year?” Thalassa interjected suddenly, tuning to face Narcissa.

Narcissa sighed. “Yes, along with Rodolphus. But, don’t get excited. Bella isn’t going to be lenient with me just because I’m her sister.” There were a chorus of disappointed sighs.

“I cannot believe they appointed Dumbledore as headmaster. My father just about showed up to burn the school down when he heard the news,” Nysa moaned.

Narcissa made a noise of agreement. “My father was displeased as well. I suppose that means we will have a new Transfiguration professor. Perhaps that teaching assistant who worked under Dumbledore, though I don’t remember her name.”

Narcissa saw Bellatrix discreetly check in the window of her department, raising her eyebrows. Narcissa gave her a small smile, letting her know she had settled in. Bellatrix left without another gesture or word.

The rest of the train ride passed, with similar gossip exchanged, and before Narcissa knew it, she was crossing the Black Lake in a little boat, desperately hoping her robes wouldn’t get wet.

The sorting ceremony is decidedly uneventful. It is slightly hard, to be excited when you already know what house you, and what house all your friends are going to get.

The scandal of the night, of course, is not when Kingsley Shacklebolt is sorted in to Gryffindor, no surprise there. But, when one of the Shafiq twins is placed in Gryffindor as well. Anara sits in the seat, rooted to the spot, an expression of mixed horror on her face, until a professor has to help her up. Her brother smiles at her though and whispers in her ear, and later, Narcissa finds that he whispered that his mother and father wouldn’t be upset. Their parents must be nicer than hers, she thought, a small, laughing smile plastered on her face.

Bellatrix congratulated her on the sorting, and so did Andromeda, at separate times though, of course. Lucius Malfoy noticed their behavior because he turned toward her, asking, “Are your sisters not speaking?”

“They are! They just have independent lives, you know! They don’t have to spend every minute of the day together. If _you_ had siblings, you would know,” Narcissa said, defensively.

Her friends gasped and Narcissa flushed. That had not been lady-like in the least bit. Malfoy looked surprised at her outburst, but merely smiled, and said, “My mistake, then.” Narcissa felt awful. He would probably write to his father, who would write to her father, telling them that they had a daughter who had bad manners when speaking to gentlemen. Bellatrix may be able to get away with such behavior, but certainly not Narcissa.

“The mistake was mine,” Narcissa apologized, with another graceful dip of her head. The Malfoy boy, however, seemed to have already moved on to something more interesting, and was discussing it with Corban Yaxley. Narcissa didn’t know if this was good or bad.

Narcissa was a lady, and she would have to do better.


	21. Astoria (July 25th 1995): Sorting and Premature Conversations

July 25th 1995

“Astoria, no. When you are dancing, you have to remember that the only way to make moves that look polished and clean, is if you control the path of your legs,” Daphne reminded, trying not to sound exasperated.

“Right. Okay, sorry,” Astoria apologized, wincing. Control the path of her legs? “Is this really important, though? I mean, I can dance well enough. Seems a little silly to learn all of these. Aren’t they out of style?” Astoria asked, referring to the wealth of ballroom dancing she had been put through in the last week.

“Out of style? Circe, no! Astoria, they are most decidedly in style, and you have to get them right.”

“Is there a Yule Ball every year?”

“No!”

“Then why—”

“Because! You will attend countless dances, assemblies, parties, and festivals, that require dancing,” Daphne said, fighting to keep a patient tone.

Astoria was saved, it seemed, by the house-elf, popping to tell them that the Deputy Headmistress had arrived, and they were expected in the drawing room. Astoria’s throat went dry and Daphne gave her a tight smile.

“Remember, if you don’t, it’s not a big deal. But, try to get in Slytherin. Think Slytherin thoughts.”

“Slytherin thoughts?” Astoria asked, nearly panicking as Daphne pushed her out of the ballroom and in he direction of the drawing room.

“Yes, like scheming, getting ahead, adaptiveness, that sort of thing.”

“What?” But, Daphne didn’t answer, and instead, gave her a tight-lipped, nervous smile. Astoria walked the considerable distance to the drawing room, before entering.

A very impatient, severe looking woman, with her hair in a tight bun, eyed her, before pointing to one of the vintage French transitional chairs, that had been placed in the center of the room, with a dirty hat placed atop it.

“Good afternoon, Miss Greengrass. Miss Greengrass,” she said, nodding at each of them. Daphne gave a polite smile, returning the greeting. Astoria did so as well, mirroring her sister.

“My name is Professor McGonagall. I am the Transfiguration Professor and the Head of Gryffindor House.”

Astoria nodded, and said, “Nice to meet you,” swallowing nervously, forgetting to tell the woman her name.

“Very well. I have important business to attend to, if you must know, so I need you to go ahead and have a seat. Are you familiar with the process?” Astoria nodded. Her sister had drilled the process relentlessly into her head, as if insight and knowledge would somehow give her a one up on the hat. She sincerely doubted it.

“Is it going to sing?” Astoria asked, eyeing it nervously. That would be, in her opinion, incredibly awkward. Her father, who had been standing in the corner, laughed at her comment.

“That hat does what it wants. I doubt it will waste a song for just one student.”

Astoria nodded, before sitting down, lifting the hat, and placing it on her head, screwing her eyes shut in concentration. _Scheming, getting ahead, adaptiveness. Scheming, getting ahead, adaptiveness. Scheming—_

A small voice echoed in her mind, saying “Someone desperately wants to be in Slytherin, eh? But, it is up to me, to place you somewhere. You’ve got impressive dueling talent, it seems. You aren’t the most courageous, but I have a feeling something could pull it out of you.” Astoria swallowed nervously. If it didn’t put her in Slytherin, what would happen? Surely, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “You have a desire, I see, to prove yourself to your family, yes? Prove you belong here? Well, I know the place for that—SLYTHERIN.”

Professor McGonagall pulled the hat off and said, “Congratulations. If you need anything in your transition to Hogwarts, feel free to contact me, or come by my office. Have a good day.” She swept out of the room, clearly in a hurry. Astoria wondered what could be so important.

“Thank you,” she called out, again immensely grateful that she didn’t have to awkwardly stand amongst the first years, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

The woman stopped, already out the room, turned and gave her a nod of acknowledgement, before walking away, out of Astoria’s line of sight.

Daphne and her father were beaming, clearly beyond excited. Astoria was just relieved, incredibly glad that she would not have disappointed her family in her very first week.

“Ah, Astoria. A Greengrass through and through it seems,” her father said, his voice filled with pride. Daphne looked incredibly relieved.

“Yes, Astoria. I’m so excited! I wish we had more time to celebrate, but we have to review the Greengrass Family Tree, make sure you know it, and did you memorize the family motto?

“Yes. Its—Tunc Mirabuntur Me,” Astoria said, stumbling over the words only slightly. Daphne nodded her head.

“Bide my time,” Daphne translated, grabbing Astoria’s hand likely to pull her into the library, for more studying.

Astoria groaned. That book, the well, the one with the fancy sounding Latin name, was not one Astoria enjoyed. Daphne assured her it wasn’t a big deal, and it was just tradition for her to know of it, but Astoria didn’t quite believe her sister.

Astoria was surprised, when Daphne instead, led her to Astoria’s room, shutting the door behind her.

“My friends are coming today,” Daphne announced, proudly. Astoria smiled, trying to quell her nerves. It certainly wasn’t something she was looking forward to. After the encounter with Thalassa Parkinson, who she most definitely did not impress, Astoria had been decidedly terrified to meet anyone else her sister or her parents knew. That woman had acted as if Astoria was at first, an exciting new specimen about to be sent to the MACUSA Committee for Mysterious Findings, and then, as if Astoria were a nasty spot on her shoe.

“Are you still worried about, Mrs. Parkinson?” Daphne accused. Astoria jumped. “Don’t be. She lives in constant fear that another girl will be seen as better than her daughter. She is likely threatened by you.”

Astoria didn’t quite know what to make of that and began to get a sinking feeling. She got the idea the Mrs. Parkinson did not in any way feel threatened by her. Rather, she seemed to take great amusement in discovering all of Astoria’s flaws and shortcomings.

Daphne strode to Astoria’s wardrobe, now full of all manner of fine clothes, and began to pull out different options. Astoria, who already thought she was wearing a nice set of robes, was inclined to worry she would be overdressed.

“Daphne, it’s just tea. Surely, there is no need for me to look as if I’m going to a ball,” Astoria pleaded.

Daphne gave her a peeved look. “Astoria, the set of robes I’m holding out to you are nowhere near as nice as something you would wear to a ball! How are you ever going to pick out your clothes on your own?”

Astoria thought she would pick out her clothes the same way she had done so for the last fourteen years. Astoria looked at the Egyptian blue robes Daphne had thrust in her direction, before sighing and putting them on. Daphne gave her an approving look, and said, “Lovely.”

Astoria frowned at her reflection. It wasn’t as if she didn’t love to wear nice, pretty clothes. Just, when she did so every day, it wasn’t nearly as exciting or special as it used to be.

Daphne left to change and came to get her nearly an hour later, announcing that her friends were all here. Astoria let Daphne lead her to the drawing room again, as she whispered orders under her breath.

“Stand up straight,” Daphne said.

“I am. This is how I stand. I don’t know how to stand any other way,” Astoria complained, wondering what girl got this nervous introducing her sister to her friends. Weren’t they just a bunch of teenagers? What cold be so horrible about that?

Finally, Daphne pushed open the door, announcing, “Here she is!” Several heads turned in her direction. She immediately felt several gazes evaluating her, appraising her. She smiled shyly as she went to sit next to Daphne on an elegant looking sofa, crossing her legs at the ankles, just as Daphne had shown her.

These were no mere teenagers. They were quite possibly the most intimidating group of people she had ever met. They were dressed very formally, looked quite stiff, and each had an impassive, impossible to read face. They were certainly all attractive, and Astoria began to have more sympathy with Mrs. Parkinson. She did look out of place.

Someone caught her eye, as he were studying her far more closely than the others in the room. He was, in Astoria’s opinion, the most attractive boy she had ever seen. She had not quite noticed him until now, as she had been far too disoriented when first walking into the room. Now that she had, however, she wondered how he was not the first person her attention was drawn to. He was pale, cold, looking. He had sharp, angular features, that paired with his tall, lithe frame, made him look somewhat statuesque. His eyes were a startling grey, a shade she hadn’t seen before. She turned away, feeling her cheeks flush slightly, as she saw him look her up and down.

“I’m Pansy. We’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally get to meet you,” a girl with short dark hair, and a bit of an upturned nose said, with a small, smile.

“Oh, well thank you. Nice to meet you,” Astoria said, returning the smile.

“It’s a shame Tracey and Millie couldn’t come. They are all very interested in you.” Astoria shifted in her seat, throwing Daphne a sideways glance. Was interested good or bad? Were all the people at Hogwarts like this?

“I’m sure I’ll see them at Hogwarts,” Astoria offered, somewhat feebly. She had walked into the room, with an air of confidence, that was fast deteriorating under the intense gaze of so many eyes.

“Daphne tells us you were sorted into Slytherin?” an attractive boy with skin of a deep umber, asked. Astoria already knew who Blaise was, as Daphne talked about him often, and had shown her a picture.

“Yes, I was. I’m excited. It was the house I was hoping to get, so.” There were nods of approval around the room, except for one person, who seemed to be staring at her far more intently than the others around her.

Daphne smiled and pointed to the boys sitting next to him. “That’s Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.” Astoria could not remember which was supposed to be which and cursed herself for not paying more attention. Astoria wouldn’t exactly call them boys, however. They looked to her, more to her like lugs.

“Nice to meet you,” Astoria said, throat going dry as one of them gave her a rather leering look, while the other looked dead behind the eyes.

“And that’s Theodore Nott,” Daphne said, pointing to another handsome boy, with dark hair and a very sly smile. “And, this is Draco Malfoy,” Daphne said, gesturing to the boy she was trying not to look at. She gave him a small smile, which he did not return.

Instead, he opened his mouth, and drawled, “They say you’re gifted.”

“Sorry?” Astoria asked, confused. Daphne sighed.

“Gifted. That’s why you disappeared so young. To attend a preliminary school for gifted witches and wizards, yes?” Draco asked, impatiently, as if having to repeat himself was an inconvenience he simply couldn’t allow.

“Oh! Yes, that’s right. I am. In some areas, I mean. Not every area of magic,” Astoria said, trying to allow for the fact she was certainly not going to get perfect marks in every class.

“Hm. That doesn’t sound gifted to me,” the boy sneered.

“It’s difficult for those of common mind to understand the true meaning of the word,” Astoria fired back, coolly.

The boy raised a single eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Perhaps I shall put it into layman’s terms. Simply, what would you, someone who isn’t gifted, know about the subject?”

“Astoria,” came Daphne’s panicked whisper. Draco gave her a look of cold fury.

“I assure you; I understand your meaning. So, tell us. What areas of magic are you _gifted_ in?” he asked, a challenging tone in his voice. The others merely watched the exchange, each with expressions of mild amusement, except for Vincent and Gregory, who looked confused.

“Dueling and transfiguration are my best. I’m fairly good at charms too,” Astoria offered. This was true, and, even if it wasn’t, she could rely on her wand to do the work. Potions on the other hand, well. She would just have to hope no one looked to closely at her work.

“Dueling?” Draco asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“At Ilvermorny, that’s what they call Defense Against the Dark Arts. Botany is Herbology. Just a few minor differences,” Daphne explained.

Pansy shot Draco an unreadable look, before smiling. “Tell us about Ilvermorny, Astoria. We are very curious.”

“It’s a little larger than Hogwarts, but very similar. There really isn’t much to tell that is different. I mean, there is Quodpot instead of Quidditch, and different houses, but other than that it’s just like any other school,” Astoria explained. She couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling, but she had an odd urge to keep the two parts of her life separate, to avoid letting them touch, as if one would somehow taint the other. “I’d rather go to Hogwarts, however,” Astoria added.

“Did you play Quodpot?” Theodore asked, leaning forward.

“No. Not much of a flier,” Astoria said, although she couldn’t help the secret smile that her lips formed, or the twist in her stomach, as she realized that once again, she was building an identity based on lies, if only slightly less than the one before it. Draco was still staring at her, clearly unamused with her. Astoria tried not to focus on him, but she was finding that to be incredibly difficult.

Astoria gave everyone her best charming smile. “So, tell me about this quidditch. Is our team any good?”

Draco had a smug smirk on his face, as he began to explain the rules. Astoria was surprised he was talking to her. He apparently played Seeker, a fact he seemed to be very proud of.

“I see. But, what is the point of the snitch and the seeker at all? It seems to me, that it makes the Chasers’ job pointless,” Astoria said, her brow furrowing.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not appreciating her comment. “Actually, at the Quidditch World Cup last year, Bulgaria caught the snitch, but Ireland still won.”

Astoria couldn’t tell if he was actually annoyed with her, or being annoyed was a constant state of being for him. She only smiled, raising her hands is mock surrender. “I see. You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve missed this Quidditch World Cup.”

The rest of the afternoon, Astoria was content to let them tell her everything about Hogwarts from the classes and the teachers, to which corridors and staircases to avoid at what times.

Eventually, Draco turned to Daphne, asking, “Will you both be attending Lughnasadh?” Astoria’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar word, and her quizzical expression must have been somewhat comical, because Draco smirked her way, before once more looking at Daphne.

“We will,” Daphne looked incredibly nervous, glancing sideways at Astoria.

“What is um, what is—” Astoria broke off, unable to remember or form the word.

Draco gave her a suffering sigh. “Lughnasadh?”

“Yes, that.”

“It’s a large party The Families have on August 1st. It used to be a harvest festival, but no one does much harvesting, so it’s really just an excuse to dress up and have fun. It shares few similarities with the original Druid festival, but the Malfoy’s will throw an excellent ball,” Daphne explained.

Astoria went white as a sheet, knowing she was far from ready to be in attendance at any party. Draco smirked at her terrified expression.

“Don’t worry, Little Greengrass. I’m sure you won’t be a massive embarrassment to your family name. I mean, you are practically the picture, of poise and elegance,” Draco drawled, again. Pansy shot him a look.

“He’s teasing, Astoria. It really isn’t that big of a deal,” Pansy said. Astoria could tell there was some truth to what Draco was saying, as Daphne looked worried.

Astoria didn’t say much else that afternoon, fretting about this event she would have to attend, knowing that she was in no way prepared or ready.

As everyone was leaving, Daphne wished them all farewell, and shot Astoria a look.

“It was really nice to meet you all,” Astoria said, smiling. Everyone fell silent, paused, and Astoria watched their eyes drift to Draco. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Draco and Daphne locked eyes, and she gave him a pleading look. He turned to her, giving her a once over, before nodding.

“Yes. Likewise,” he said, in the driest voice Astoria had ever heard, before the others nodded and smiled at her, as Daphne went to walk them to the fireplace to floo out. Astoria got the feeling she had just been “approved” and she didn’t like it one bit.

They were an odd bunch, for sure. They reminded her more, of scheming politicians in their thirties, rather than a group of fifteen- and sixteen-year old students.

The rest of July was filled with more lessons and more dancing. The book, the _Praecepta Purissimum_ , bothered her to no end. Daphne only read a few things out to her, simply trying to give her a crash course, but Astoria was not too found of what she heard.

“Daphne, what on earth? I’ve never heard of anything like this. No one has ever mentioned anything like this to me before,” Astoria would argue. “What do you mean “those of unclean blood?”

“Astoria, you don’t have to believe it, alright? You just have to know it. I have no time or patience to decondition you from whatever mindless things you already believe. All I can do, is tell you what you ought to know, and you just follow the rules.”

“The rules?” Astoria asked, incredulously.

“Yes! No muggle music, no muggle food, no muggle books, yes I’ve seen them in your trunk. Get rid of them. No muggle art, no muggle clothes, no muggle anything.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous or not, you do it. If someone sees otherwise, we will be ruined,” Daphne said, in a very matter-of-fact tone. “There is more, of course there is more, but I will just have to fill you in later. Just, at the party, be sure to agree with everything some else says, got it?”

Astoria nodded, before Daphne swept her to the ballroom to try to teach her to dance again. She didn’t quite feel comfortable with all this. But, she just got her family back, and she didn’t want to make them upset so soon.

When she thought of Rachelle, it filled her with horrible, white-hot guilt, that twisted her stomach. However, Astoria reasoned, Rachelle was very far away, and what did it matter if a few people happened not to like her much. Rachelle would never know, and so it could never hurt her feelings.

When the day of Lughnasadh arrived, which Astoria still couldn’t say, much to Daphne’s ire, Astoria was more nervous than she had ever been in her life. Her stomach was in knots, and she couldn’t help but feel, that somehow, this was important.

Astoria pulled out one of the many sets of dress robes Daphne and she had purchased, before deciding on a champagne-colored set, that shimmered when she moved. Astoria looked at her reflection and decided that she looked far more beautiful than she ever had before.

Astoria stepped out of her room, her heeled shoes sinking into the plush carpet, making it hard to walk. She knocked on Daphne’s door, but heard no answer, leading her to conclude that Daphne must be downstairs. Astoria walked the long way to the grand entrance, where her mother and sister stood waiting. They didn’t see her yet, and Astoria took a moment to observe her mother, who looked stunning in robes of cerulean.

Her mother bended down to kiss Daphne’s cheek, before pulling back to smile proudly.

“A vision tonight, Daphne. I’m sure that Zabini boy will be planning how to ask for your hand in marriage tonight.” Daphne gave her mother an awkward smile, as if the thought had not crossed her mind. “Of course, I do wish you would go for someone with a more distinguishable name. The Nott boy? The Malfoy boy?”

Daphne noticed Astoria then, and grinned. “Astoria! You look lovely. You may want to run upstairs and hide, though. Mother has started planning our weddings,” Daphne joked, giving her mother a good-natured sarcastic smile.

Astoria joined her sister when her mother scoffed. “Planning your wedding, dear. No one is going to want the damaged goods.”

“Mother!” Daphne cried in outrage, her face flushing with fury. Astoria stood, frozen, shocked, in disbelief as to what she just heard. Her shock kept her from hearing Daphne and her mother’s argument. She tuned back in, only to hear.

“Oh, please, Daphne. Name one person whom it would be suitable for her to marry, who isn’t going to care she is some beast, and isn’t going to care that she is practically barren!” her mother shouted. Astoria turned, and promptly, threw up in a potted plant. She was vaguely aware of Daphne rushing her back upstairs to brush her teeth. Her shock lasts long enough, that the tears do not come. Daphne was cooing something to her, reassurances that Astoria couldn’t bring herself to listen to.

She walked downstairs with Daphne, and saw her father arguing in hushed whispers with her mother. He saw her, and turned to her. “Oh, Astoria. You look splendid.” Astoria nodded weakly. “Pay your mother no mind. She shouldn’t even be talking of such things to you girls. Both of you are much to young to consider marriage!” Her mother looked angry at being dismissed so soundly, but said nothing to contradict her husband.

She supposed, she had never really thought about it. She had read romance novels, of course, but never did she consider that she might be excluded from the thing that so many others seemed to enjoy. Her mother was, unfortunately, probably correct, though her words were vile. In a way, Astoria was grateful for her mother. She would not have chosen this night to face the truth, that she was likely to become some spinster, but it was as good a night as any. Astoria decided then, that she would be okay. She would be fine. She didn’t need love, although she wanted it. Besides, she could live a wonderful fulfilled life without all of that nonsense. She was going to enjoy being fourteen, and not worry about her apparent destiny to remain alone.

The Greengrasses apparated with a crack, but before Astoria could get a good look around Daphne told her parents to go ahead in, and pulled Astoria behind a bush, where a startled looking white peacock, squawked terribly, before strutting away.

“Astoria!” Astoria looked at Daphne, forcing her head to clear. “I’ve been calling your name for thirty seconds.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t listen to Mother. She is really, very ill, sick in the head, and she doesn’t know half of what she says. It isn’t true—”

“It is true.”

“What? No! Plenty of Animagi have gotten married before, Astoria. You needn’t be so dramatic. You are going to live a nice, long, happy life. And, Mother’s hateful words aren’t going to keep you from that.” Astoria realized, with a sinking feeling, that her sister didn’t know.

“Oh, Daphne. They didn’t tell you?” Astoria asked. The color drained from Daphne’s face, and she gave Astoria a frightened look.

“Tell me what.”

“Daphne, I’ll be dead by fifty.” Astoria watches as her sister’s eyes filled with tears.

“What?”

“Daphne, it’s a curse. I, I have to keep transforming, or I’ll grow sick and die.”

“I knew that! But, as long as you keep transforming, you’ll be fine,” Daphne said, voice beginning to shake. Astoria felt her throat close up. How could Father not have told her?

“No, Daphne. I—I will eventually, be unable to change back. I’ll be trapped inside a bird’s body, forever. By fifty, if not sooner.” Astoria didn’t mention that it would likely be sooner.

“No.”

“Yes. Of course, Healer Johnson said, that most with my condition choose to not live on as an animal. Let a Hospital take care of things.”

Daphne is shaking, an expression of utter horror on her face, tears now streaming readily down her cheeks, dripping over the end of her dainty nose. “Astoria, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve known for a long time, Daphne.” Astoria embraced her sister. “On the bright side. I still have plenty of time, and I would like to spend tonight, having an amazing time with you. It’s nothing to be upset over, I promise. I could be struck by lightning and die tonight. That’s just the way life works.”

Daphne nodded, wiping her tears and fanning her face. “Okay. Let’s go in. Remember all the things we talked about, okay?”

Astoria stepped around the bush, and saw an impressively large, intimidating manor ahead. Her mouth dropped open, in slight surprise, wondering how on earth anyone could live in a place so grand. Daphne laughed at her expression. “I told you Malfoy Manor was bigger than Thornhill Park.”


	22. Astoria (August 1st 1995): Found You

Astoria followed Daphne as they walked towards Malfoy Manor on the stone path obscured by two great hedges that ran the length of the lawn, until they stopped just before the entrance.

The manor towered above her, grand, but also frightening in its size and appearance. It was made of dark grey stone and had steeply pitched rooflines. There were gables and wide eaves, turrets and octagonal towers, and even a widow’s walk. There were many widows, all gleaming with bright yellow light, that somehow did nothing to cut through the gloom of the surrounding landscape. Astoria could only think of one word to describe it: oppressive.

As they walked through the grand double doors, all Astoria could imagine was that she was walking through the mouth of some great, terrible beast. 

Once inside the grand entrance hall, as they were led by two smartly dressed men in neat black robes to the ballroom, Astoria got a strange urge to turn around and flee, running back through the lawn, past the hedges and the grand, spurting fountains, dodging the peacocks, and into the surrounding trees. 

Daphne held Astoria’s arm as they descended the grand marble staircase to the floor of the ballroom. They barely made it a third of the way down the staircase, before there was an audible hush in conversation, that tapered into silence. Astoria was startled by the sudden quiet and by the several pairs of eyes that had suddenly deviated towards the sisters. Astoria, who had never received this much attention in her entire life, at first thought they were staring at her sister, who looked so impossibly lovely in layers of rose-colored silk. “Why are they all staring at you?” Astoria breathed, desperately hoping she wouldn’t fall down the staircase.

Daphne gave her an anxious grin. “They aren’t staring at me.” Astoria realized with horror, that the many pairs of cold, calculating eyes, were on her. She became so incredibly nervous, that she teetered a bit on the last step, and may have landed on her face, were it not for Daphne keeping a firm grip on her arm. Daphne whispered her name, alarmed at the sudden movement.

They made it, and Daphne hissed into her ear, “Smile! You look like a frightened fawn!” Astoria was about to tell Daphne she felt like one, and that this had been a terrible idea. She should go home, sit in the manor, and never appear outside her room for the rest of her short existence.

Astoria observed the people around her, never seeing such opulence and finery in all her life. There were ladies and gentlemen dressed in fine robes, accessorized with glittering jewels. She had never seen such wealth gathered into one place, and she could feel it oozing out of each and every person, each looking incredibly frightening and incredibly awe inducing. She never laid eyes on witches and wizards like this, each looking foreign and captivating.

Daphne steered her, nodding hello to people and friends, with Astoria keeping a graceful smile plastered on her face, hoping it was convincing. “Miss Greengrass.” Daphne froze and turned in the direction of the voice, her face paling slightly. Astoria followed her gaze, her eyes landing on a tall man in dark robes, his long, white-blond hair pulled back from his face. He stared back at her, a frigid smile curling his lip. “I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of being introduced to your sister.”

“My apologies, sir. This is Astoria.” Astoria dipped her head, a small smile on her face, a movement that had become practiced for her as of late. “Hello.” The man did not bother to introduce himself, and Astoria got the feeling it was because he didn’t do so often, the feeling that everyone but her knew who this man was.

“We are surprised you are with us this evening,” a woman said, catching Astoria’s attention. Astoria thought the woman reminded her of a super-model in one of Rachelle’s magazines. She was also tall and blonde, as well as slightly less severe looking, though that did little to ease the nerves twisting in Astoria’s stomach. Surprised? Had they not invited her? The woman must have sensed her confusion because she said, “You’ve been hidden away for so long. We had not expected such a reappearance.” The couple were clearly waiting for her to say something, to but Astoria’s throat had gone dry, syllables long forgotten.

“I prefer to keep to myself unless I find pleasant company.” Astoria said, politely. The man’s eyes flashed, and Astoria immediately knew her comment had been interpreted as an insult. She hadn’t meant that she had been avoiding them, rather she meant that she chose to come because she found them to be pleasant company. Of course, she was quickly rethinking that assumption.

“Are _you_ insulting me?” the man asked, an appearance of calm detachment, but behind his eyes barely hid the fury. He had said “you” as if she was some disgusting thing on the bottom his shoe. Astoria was not one for confrontation, but she preferred not to allow herself to be treated as if she was scum.

“I suppose whether or not it is an insult depends on your own self-esteem, _sir.”_ Astoria wrenched her arm out of Daphne’s grasp, and swept away through the ballroom, letting the crowd swallow her, ignoring Daphne’s panicked gasp and the apologies she was heaping on her behalf.  
  


“Oh, you will have to excuse her. She only just got here, is incredibly nervous, has no idea who you are, and hasn’t been taught what to do in situations like these!” Astoria snorted as her sister’s words were carried out of earshot, and she left the room through a side door, ignoring the many eyes that were following her. It appeared her conversation had amassed an audience.

Astoria left the ballroom, deciding she needed to visit the washroom to collect herself, and take a few deep breaths. She hadn’t counted on having no idea where she was headed and no idea where the washrooms were. She just kept walking, going deeper and deeper into the heart of the unfamiliar manor.

This place was beautiful, if not a little excessive, and the further Astoria walked did nothing to curb the wonder and eeriness she felt. This place was cold, and didn’t look in the least bit comfortable or lived in. It was hard to believe that only three people could live in a place so big.

She was walking down a corridor lined with portraits, each with an inscription about who the person was on a golden plate under the painting. It was a little strange, in Astoria’s opinion, to have a museum about one’s own family. The paintings all gave her snooty looks or huffed and crossed their arms when she passed. Until, one called out to her.

“You do not seem to feel comfortable here.” Astoria turned, finding a woman staring at her.

“I’m not.” Astoria read the inscription underneath her painting.

Amalthea Malfoy (1345-1410): Rumored Seer. Astoria sniffed. Everyone knew divination was bogus.

“I’d get used to it if I were you.”

“To what?”

“This house.” Astoria rolled her eyes and kept going. She didn’t feel like being lectured by a portrait.

She walked a little farther, and still had not come across anything that looked remotely like a washroom. She was beginning to decide it was time to give up and turn back, when she realized that she had no idea how to get back to the ballroom.

Suddenly, her vision swam, and her head began to hurt. She turned, and saw something coming toward her, moving across the hallway in a serpentine motion. Serpentine. Astoria blinked, clearing her vision, and saw a great, terrible snake making its way in her direction. Astoria knew she should run, but she found she couldn’t.

She could feel whispering in her ear, though it was hard to make out what was being said. Something was pulling and pushing at the very edge of her mind and making her feel faint and awake all at once.

Astoria would never know what on earth possessed her to do this, to crouch down and reach her hand out, as if to touch the creature. It slithered right up to her feet, and Astoria, carefully, placed the tip of her finger on the scales of the beast’s head. Her vision went dark.

Astoria surveyed the area around her, and she found herself in a black expanse, where there was nothing, but darkness. Astoria, realized, she had been here before, in fact, this time last year. The dream. Astoria whipped her head around, to see the woman in the blue dress staring at her, head tilted.

The woman licked her lips, a forked tongue poking through, before saying the words that would haunt Astoria forever. “Found you.”

Astoria jerked her head back, looking at the great snake before her, who reared its head, sinking its fangs into Astoria’s right upper arm. She screamed, kicking the beast back from her, pain ripping down her arm in throbbing waves.

She leapt to her feet and ran, her thick hair tumbling out of place as she stumbled in her heels. She kicked them off, her bare feet sliding across the floor as she nearly fell flat on her face. She didn’t bother to check if the snake was still behind her. She could feel that it was. She kept running and when she turned a corner, she ran straight into someone, before falling backwards, landing on her bum.

She scrambled to her feet breathing hard, no longer able to sense the beast behind her. The pain in her arm had receded, and though it had been intense just moments ago, she could barely feel it now.

“Little Greengrass, what are you doing running through my house.” Astoria looked and saw it was Draco Malfoy, giving her a look of mild interest, along with a sneer.

“We’ve got to run now. I think it could still be back there.”

“What?”

“The snake. There was a huge—“, Astoria had to pause, still gasping for breath. “A huge snake. Draco, a _huge_ snake. We have to get out of here.” Astoria gripped his arm, tugging him, but he refused to move. Instead, her gripped her upper arms tightly, turning her to face him.

“What else did you see?”

“Sorry?”

“Did you see anything else?”

“No. A snake. Is that not enough for you? Let’s go!” Astoria shouted, pulling on his sleeve desperately.

Draco let go of her, letting a breath out. “Okay. Alright.” Astoria shook slightly, tears beginning to prick her eyes. He cleared his throat, and said, in a reluctantly gentlemanlike voice, as though he didn’t want to be polite, but felt obligated to, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Astoria whispered, though it wasn’t convincing.

“Little Greengrass, where are your shoes.” Astoria looked down at her feet, realizing how cold they were bare on the floor.

“I—I don’t know. Back there, I guess.” Astoria gestured toward the hallway she had just ran from, hand trembling.

“With the snake?” Draco drawled, but his voice was slightly strained. A chocked sob made its way past Astoria’s lips. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to cry about it. I’ll get them.” Draco looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with tears.

“You can’t. Isn’t there a restriction on underage magic?”

“Not when your dad pays Mafalda Hopkirk to keep her nose out of your business there’s not,” Draco retorted. “ _Accio_ —”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You can’t summon my shoes! You don’t know what they look like, so you can’t have a clear picture in your mind.”

“Okay, okay. I see I should take tips from the _gifted_ student.” Astoria brushed tears away, laughing a little. “Describe them.”

“They’re heels, white. Just simple pumps, nothing special. They have little satin bows on the back.”

“They sound silly.” Astoria didn’t comment, still a little shaken up. “ _Accio_ shoes.”

Astoria waited, until flying around the corridor, were a pair of heels, one smacking against the wall behind their heads, and the other impaling itself in the wall with a thunk.

“Making holes in my house, Little Greengrass?”

Astoria turned and yanked the shoe out of the wooden panel. “I’m sorry.”

“What were you doing back here? After, you know, insulting my father in front of a live audience, that is.” Draco watched as she slipped her shoes back on, one hand bracing against the wall for balance.

“Looking for the washroom. I got lost.” Astoria said, blushing now that the giant snake wasn’t as prevalent as an issue. “And, I had no idea that was your father. I’m sorry.” Draco shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe who he was looking at.

“Come on. I’ll take you.” Draco nodded his head and led her down the corridors. Astoria followed him, nervously glancing over her shoulder. They walked in silence and Astoria took in the splendor around her, eyeing a solid gold statue of a wizard. “Like my manor?” Draco asked, smugly, looking at her bewildered expression.

“No,” Astoria said, honestly, before putting her hand over her mouth, shocked at what she said.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s beautiful! I didn’t mean that. It’s just, I wouldn’t say I like it,” Astoria explained hastily.

“And why not?” Draco had stopped, an angry, incredulous expression on his face.

“It’s cold. Empty. Far too big. I guess, I can hardly imagine it would ever feel like much of a home. It just feels…inhospitable.”

“Inhospitable?”

“Uncaring. But, I don’t live here! And you obviously like it. And it is possibly the most lavish place I’ve ever been in…” Astoria trailed off. She looked at him, anxiously. His face was unreadable.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

“Are you angry?” Astoria asked.

“I haven’t decided. Keep moving.” Astoria figured that was good enough.

Draco stopped again and looked at her. “You can make it up to me. Do me a favor.”

Astoria narrowed her eyes but nodded her head. “Depends on what it is.”

“Don’t tell anyone about that snake. Just—don’t mention it. To anyone.” Draco gave her a serious look, leaning forward slightly.

“Why?” Astoria asked, voice raising a pitch, caught off guard by the sudden increased proximity.

“It looks bad. To have giant snake roaming our manor when there are guests. My father wouldn’t want anyone to feel like their safety wasn’t a priority.”

“Wouldn’t it more dangerous to lie about it? Someone ought to do something. How did it get in here anyway?”  
  


“Look, he will send someone to take care of it as soon as I tell him. And, it probably just slithered in.”

“There are no snakes like that in England. They don’t live here.”

“It’s probably a magical snake. Those do. Now, can you please keep your mouth shut? I don’t believe I’ve ever dealt with anyone this difficult.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t’ tell anyone about the snake.”

“Good. The washroom is right here. Hurry up. I’ll accompany you back to the ball.” Astoria narrowed her eyes at him, but looked to where he had pointed, and her cheeks colored when she realized it had been very near the ballroom after all. She stepped inside, and fixed her hair, taking out the glittering pins, until her hair fell, hanging around her face. She hadn’t seen many girls or women with their hair down, but she didn’t have the skills to try and redo her hair. 

She smoothed her hair down and wiped the barest traces of mascara that had edged around her eye. She looked toward her arm, wondering why Draco hadn’t mentioned the bite. She lifted the sleeve of her dress robes, and when she stared at the place the snake had bit her, her brow furrowed. There was no bite. The skin was clean and smooth, as if it had never been pierced.


	23. Draco (July 25th-August 1st 1995): Dull Dancing

July 25th 1995

When Draco returned from the Greengrasses, his mother had been waiting for a full report, ready to ambush him as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace.

“Well, what of her?” His mother was on him immediately, brushing soot of his shoulders, her secret attack successful in cornering him.

“Completely normal. Unremarkable, really. Polite and charming, but nothing of note.” Draco sat down on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, but quickly removing them at his mother’s look.

“Really? That is good, I suppose.” His mother sounded a tad dejected that the girl wasn’t hiding some horrible secret. “Well, was she unattractive, like Thalassa mentioned.”

In truth, Draco hadn’t found her to be unattractive or plain. She was no special beauty like her sister, but she had a distinct and memorable charm about her.

“She isn’t unattractive.” His mother leaned forward, no doubt hoping for more, but Draco didn’t feel the need to discuss what he thought of her appearance with his mother. “She’ll be coming to Lughnasadh, so you can get a good look at her.”

She sighed. “I did invite her, but I didn’t think she would come. I’m honestly surprised.”

“You shouldn’t haven’t invited her if you didn’t want her to come. Though, from what I can tell, she won’t be any different than Pansy or Daphne.” Draco offered. That, was a lie. Astoria would be much different from Pansy or Daphne. He only hoped Daphne could instruct her in proper behavior.

Astoria didn’t look or act uncivilized by any means. She wasn’t ungraceful or loud like some Gryffindor student from the common rabble. But, there was a distinct difference between her and the other girls her age whom she would interact with. The Families would notice, and whether they found her to be passable as he did, or a disgrace, was unknown.

She certainly was mouthy. That wouldn’t do her any favors.

* * *

August 1st 1995

The day of Lughnasadh, Draco’s father looked unbelievably tense. Apparently, his father would be having visitor, instructing him in something he wanted done. If Draco could guess, from his father’s nervous excitement hidden behind an expression of disinterest, and his mother’s worried face, it was _Him_.

Draco hoped to catch a glimpse of this man his father served so faithfully, but his mother made sure that didn’t happen, by keeping him in parlor with her, watching him study Transfiguration.

His father strolled in, hours later, looking slightly apprehensive. “Narcissa, may I speak with you?”

“Is our guest still here?”

“Left just a few minutes ago. But, he left something behind for us to keep charge of. I wanted to speak with you on the matter.” His mother stood, and followed his father, a strange look on her face.

Draco waited until they were out of the room, counted to thirty, and then went to follow them, crouching outside his parent’s bedroom, hoping for an inkling of something, anything to give him insight into what _He_ was up to.

“The snake? It can’t stay here tonight!”

“Narcissa, it will be up in the upper chambers, and I’ll cast ample wards. It will keep the snake from roaming near the guests. He will be back for it tomorrow.”

“I don’t like that, Lucius.”

“I’m aware, Narcissa. But, after my wavering support the last few years, it is difficult for me to say no to anything He asks.”

“Oh, please, Lucius. As if you have ever refused Him for anything. As if you are able to.”

“I am still the master of my own life, Narcissa. I may aid Him in His succession, but by no means am I his slave!”

There was a heavy silence, before his father continued, voice softer. “Narcissa, you know, that after I lost the diary, he has been upset with me. I did not know, could not have known, that he would regard a tiny black book as so important. Regardless, he is furious with me, Narcissa. If I can help him out, if I can get him what he desires, then I will. He is our future Narcissa. The one I have promised you.”

“Lucius—”

“I have allowed you to give your thoughts. Respect my decision. A decision that is final.” Draco crept away at this point, a frown on his face. _He_ was angry with his father? Whatever for? It gave him a bad feeling, but one he quickly shook off. There was no need to worry. His father would handle it. He always did.

That night, he stood in the ballroom with Pansy, who was anxiously avoiding her mother. Blaise and Theo stood near him, with Crabbe and Goyle off in the distance near the refreshment table.

“Here come Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass. But no sisters,” murmured Pansy. After nearly fifteen minutes of waiting, with Blaise anxiously staring up at the staircase, Daphne and Astoria descended.

A hush fell over the room, as everyone watched with interest at the new girl that had suddenly made an appearance in their lives.

Astoria looked well tonight, her eyes bright and shining, although a little nervous. She would have looked like one of them, if not for her anxious demeanor. He watched her facial expression change to one of near horror, as she suddenly seemed to realize that everyone was looking at her. Pansy winced as she stumbled on the last step, and Theo laughed, clearly enjoying the increase it whispers it caused.

“My mom will be talking about that little stumble for the next thirty years,” Theo remarked, shaking his head sympathetically.

The situation only got worse, as Daphne steered her in their direction, no doubt hoping to escape conversation with anyone. Several nodded and said hello, which Daphne returned politely, though she avoided stopping to talk with expert ease. Astoria looked frightened and a little lost, making her appear out of place amongst the confident cold countenances in the room. She would need to learn to hide her emotions. They registered on her face, giving everyone a clear picture as to how she felt, supplying everyone with a weakness to pick at.

Daphne escaped most people, but not his parents; they wouldn’t let the new arrival slip away so easily. He watched the exchange, along with the rest of the ballroom, in interest, leaning in to hear the conversation.

She insulted his father.

She stormed from the room.

Draco had to fight to keep himself from letting his mouth drop open in surprise.

Immediately, whispers broke out, nervous and gleeful at the girl’s foolish mistake, along with his father’s embarrassment at not getting the last word. Draco was immediately annoyed with the girl, shocked at the audacity she must possess to speak to his father that way! Was she out of her mind? Just wait until they got back to school. He would—

Pansy turned to him. “Don’t you dare.”

“Dare what?”

“You are already plotting against her! Look at Daphne up there. Do you see how distraught she is?”

He watched Daphne as she frantically apologized to his parents. His mother, who had always liked Daphne, softened her expression and began to reassure her. His father had a stony face and looked ready to blow a casket. Perhaps his mother could calm him toward Astoria, as it seemed she was now attempting to do, or perhaps she couldn’t.

Daphne rushed over to them, looking close to tears. “Oh, Draco. I’m so incredibly sorry. I don’t know what came over her, really. She has had a rather stressful day with Mother, and she is all out of sorts tonight. She didn’t even know they were your parents. Draco, heavens, she doesn’t even know what it means to be a Malfoy.” Daphne grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing warier and downed it.

“Daphne!” Blaise gasped at her sudden resort to underage drinking. Theo smirked, and grabbed another from a tray, handing it to her.

“Relax, Greengrass. I’m not going to do anything to her,” Draco drawled, as if he hadn’t been considering it moments ago.

“What happened with your mother?” Pansy asked, brow furrowing.

“Oh! Well, she basically told Astoria that she was too—” Daphne broke off, looking unsure how to answer. “She insulted her robes. It was a standard mother-daughter spat. You know how it goes,” Daphne said, waving her hand, her voice raising a slight pitch the only indication she wasn’t telling the truth.

Pansy sighed, eyeing her own mother who looked deep in the throes of gossip with Nysa Nott. “Don’t I know,” she muttered under her breath.

“Where has she gone?” Draco asked, suddenly, when he noticed she had been gone quite a while.

“Oh, I don’t know. I assumed the washroom,” Daphne said, giving another fretful glance toward his parents.

“Shouldn’t she be back by now?” Pansy asked, nervously. Draco wondered if he ought not to check on her. It was his estate, and he supposed it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, though he couldn’t stand crying, and if she was somewhere crying, he wanted nothing to do with it.

Without Draco’s notice, his father appeared behind him. “Draco, may I speak with you for a moment?” Draco nodded and hurriedly followed his father to the far corner, while his friends gave him worried looks.

“Where did that girl go?”

“I don’t know, Father.”

“Find her. Please. I can’t have her wondering the manor. She might find _something.”_ Draco knew his father was talking about the snake he had overhead him discussing with his mother.

“I’ll do so. Promptly. She can’t have gone far.” Draco turned and walked through the ballroom, dodging glittering robes and waiters with trays of drinks. He had tried to grab one earlier, but his mother had seen it, and he had slammed the crystal glass on the windowsill, scowling.

He assumed Astoria had likely gone toward the washroom, but, knocking on the door had done nothing to draw her out. He sighed and headed further into the manor, occasionally calling “Greengrass?” and hearing no answer.

He passed the portraits, and his great grandfather pointed to the left, saying “That way.” He nodded his thanks, turning around the corner. After walking a bit more, he didn’t have to worry about finding her, because she barreled straight into him, sending herself sprawling across the floor. From her expression, he could tell she had found the snake.

Of course, then came calming her down, retrieving her shoes, and leading her back toward the ballroom.

Now, he was expected to hold polite conversation with someone who had spent the entire walk back insulting his manor, and even more annoyingly, not far from the truth.

Finally, she exited the washroom, running her fingers through her lose hair, looking dejected. She looked up at him, smiling cautiously. 

“I’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t I? I don’t know how I’m going to go back in there.” Astoria sighed, leaning against the wall.

Draco let out a sardonic laugh, sneering cruelly. “Yes, well. Not a promising start.” Astoria winced and closed her eyes, bringing up two fingers to massage her temple, before giving him an apologetic look.

“How upset is Daphne?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more upset.”

“My parents?” Draco didn’t answer. He gave her a look that said _What do you think?_ “Well, no putting it off anymore. I’ve got to go back in there. Face the music. If I apologized to your father, do you think he would let it go?” Draco had never in his life known his father to let something go.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he told her, feeling the bares trace of guilt when she closed her eyes and cursed to herself. She pushed herself off the wall, seemingly steeling herself, before turning in the direction of the ballroom, walking forward confidently. Draco shook his head, grabbing her arm, suddenly taking pity on her. “Not that way. Let’s slip in near the back. Less of a grand entrance.” Perhaps he could spare her everyone’s prying eyes, if only for a few moments. Astoria followed him out around the ballroom, into the gardens, before slipping in behind him through nearly hidden back door. He watched Astoria slink along the wall, until she reached Daphne tugging on the sleeve of her sister’s robe. He followed to where they were, nodding coolly when Daphne gave him a grateful smile.

“The Malfoys aren’t as angry as I thought they would be, Astoria,” Daphne said, reassuringly. Draco eyed his parents, watching his father glare daggers at the back of Astoria’s head. Unlikely. His father met his eyes and Draco gave him a slight nod, indicating everything was as it should be. He didn’t think it wise to mention Astoria saw the snake. His father might try to _ensure_ she stayed silent.

Draco saw that everyone was quickly becoming aware of Astoria’s presence, with the whispering and hard stares once again finding themselves directed at her. Draco left the sisters and crossed the room to the refreshment table, picking up a glass of water. Nearby, Nyssa Nott was whispering in Thalassa Parkinson’s ear, saying “I wanted to be kind to her, but if she insists on having a disagreement with the Malfoys of all people, I don’t know what can be done for her! I certainly don’t want to associate with her and risk Lucius’s ill temper.”

He felt someone brush his arm. He turned his head, to find Pansy standing next to him. He reached to grab her a glass of water. “Daphne’s upset,” she whispered, as he passed her the drink.

“I’m sure she is. As are her parents. Her little stunt isn’t going to be easily forgotten.” Draco took a sip of his drink, wondering how long this event would go on. Listening to people cowl to your parents and admire your wealth was only entertaining for a while.

Pansy sighed and said, “I like her.” Draco looked at her, raising his eyebrows.

“You do,” he said, flatly.

“Yes! I do. And, not just because of Daphne, either.”

“Don’t get attached. She’ll be shipped across the sea soon enough,” Draco warned. There was no way her parents would let her stay after that stunt. Or perhaps, now that they’d foolishly told everyone of her existence, it would be far more of a scandal for her to disappear again.

“You like her too,” Pansy said, causing Draco to scoff and shake his head.

“What?”

“You do. You like her. I can tell.” Fine. She wasn’t the most horrible person to have around. A nice change of pace, if he was honest. At the very least, she was interesting.

“I do not.” Pansy rolled her eyes at his comment, unconvinced.

“I don’t know why you insist on convincing every friend you have that you don’t like them.” Pansy gave him a knowing look, before taking a small sip of her water.

“It doesn’t matter if I like her. She’s doomed,” Draco said, turning to look at Pansy, who was picking a nonexistent fleck of dust of her lilac dress robes.

“Help her,” Pansy suggested. Draco sighed. Even if he wanted to help her, what could he do? She had to make an impression tonight, and while she had, it was most certainly the wrong one.

He watched couples swirl around the dance floor in time with the music, talking, laughing, some whispering and talking throwing disapproving looks Astoria’s way when they spun in her direction. His face drew itself into an expression of distaste. He hated dancing. He saw Daphne and Blaise dancing, Daphne checking on Astoria nearly every thirty seconds, with a worried look. Astoria was in the corner, talking with one of the waiters, who looked slightly alarmed she was speaking to him. Daphne was trying to catch her sister’s eye, likely to tell her to stop her conversation. Draco groaned. Astoria really couldn’t go five minutes without being on the precipice of a social faux pas.

He looked toward Pansy, who was now in a deep, serious looking conversation with Theodore Nott. Draco sighed. It appeared it was up to him. He strode towards Astoria, setting his empty drink on a tray carried by a passing waiter.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to Brighton. I do really like the beach, though, so I—”

“She is done with this conversation,” Draco interjected, interrupting Astoria. The waiter looked startled, and he rushed off, giving him a nod.

“Draco! That was awful.” She spun toward him, looking stunned.

“You were drawing attention to yourself.”

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” Astoria fumed. A few stares move toward them.

“Lower your voice. Act like we are having a pleasant conversation.” Astoria looked uncertain, but didn’t say anything else, looking down at her shoes. She met his eyes, anger already disappearing.

“Instead of acting like we are having a pleasant conversation, why don’t we just have one?”

“I doubt that is possible. I will allow you to try, however.” He said it just to annoy her, just to prove her wrong, but she laughed, surprising him.

“What do you like to do for fun?” Astoria asked. Draco paused, not sure how to answer.

“Quidditch.” Astoria laughed, and Draco didn’t know what was so funny.

“Is that it?” she teased. Yes.

“What do _you_ do for fun?” Draco sneered.

“Act like we are having a pleasant conversation,” Astoria reminded playfully. “I like to read, and I like to go swimming.”

“Read? Like what,” Draco said.

“Oh, anything really. I read a lot of fiction. And, I like books on wand lore.” Astoria’s eyes drifted to the dance floor, smiling at her sister. People were watching them talk, giving each other questioning looks.

He heard a whisper, “Perhaps Daphne was able to smooth things over. If Lucius Malfoy’s own son will converse with her, then can there be an issue?” That was it. Cursed solution it may be

“Dance with me.” Astoria looked stunned.

“I’m awful. At dancing, I mean.”

“Inconsequential. If you want any hope of making it out tonight without forever being on the fringe of proper society, you will accept.”

Astoria sighed. “Oh. Thanks for the help,” she grumbled. She looked indignant, and it occurred to him that she must have thought he was expressing genuine desire to dance with her. He was not at all sorry to disappoint. There was nothing genuine about him or the world she would be living in from now on, and he didn’t’ genuinely want to dance with anyone in that entire room.

He merely held out his hand, waiting for her to take it. She did, gripping it tightly. He escorted her to the dance floor, bowing before offering his hand again. She forgot to courtesy before taking his hand, but there was nothing to do about that, because the music was starting up again. He rolled his eyes at her mistake.

As they spun around, his hands barely touching her, and making a bit of a show of dancing far apart, so as not to start the wrong sort of rumors, he tried hard not to look at his father, who had now smoothed his expression into a passive one. He may not like Astoria Greengrass, but he would have to appear to now, so that he and his son did not appear to be at odds about the friendship. It would help Astoria immensely though he would undoubtedly pay for it, later.

It occurred to him he should talk to her, so as to make it slightly less awkward. “Wand lore. An interesting hobby. You seek to make them?”

Astoria smiled, and shook her head. “Oh no. Haven’t got the talent. It’s just for fun.” She stumbled slightly and stepped on his toes. “Sorry.”

“You are right. You are a miserable dancer.”

“I’ve only just started,” she defended, scowling.

“Oh, believe me. It is apparent.” He smirked as she nearly stepped on him again.

“It is apparent to me, that you are not a pleasant conversationalist,” Astoria replied coolly. Draco scoffed, shaking his head. She never stopped.

“Well, tell me. What about wand lore interests you? Uncommon hobby.”

Astoria seemed to consider his question, and almost spun the wrong way, before his whispered, “No. Turn to the right.” She corrected her mistake quickly, and no one appeared to have noticed.

“Thank you.” “Well, for starters, I find it interesting how telling the wand’s materials can be about its owner.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly. “Oh? Well, Little Greengrass, what does my wand say about me?”

Astoria laughed. “What is it made of?”

“Hawthorn. Unicorn hair.” He watched her brow furrow in concentration, as if she was attempting to remember, then she laughed a little.

“Well, the unicorn hair core is most unsuitable for dark magic. Not that the owner cannot attempt it and be successful, but it usually doesn’t perform as well as other cores. In fact, an owner of a unicorn wand would find they don’t have the much of a desire or will to cast such spells.” Draco felt his stomach twist. He had grown up around dark magic, even found it fascinating. Of course, he had never actually attempted to use it, but he knew his father had, knew he would be expected to, especially in light of what was to come. Not what he had been hoping to hear.

“And, a hawthorn wood indicates turmoil, confliction. Are you going through some sort of moral dilemma?” Astoria asked, teasingly. If he was, he was unaware. A small voice in the back of his head whispered that he knew what she spoke of; he pushed it down, uninterested in what it had to say.

He hadn’t realized, but she was a little closer to him than when the dance had started. He stared down at her, as she tilted her head to the side slightly, with confused countenance.

“I see I have upset you. It is not binding, you know. You are who you wish to be. The wand will adapt with you, if need be.” Astoria smiled at him warily, clearly a little taken aback by his bothered expression.

“You have not upset me.” A lie. “What of your wand?” Astoria nearly tripped as she released his hand, twirling, before taking it again.

“Are your parents frightened?” Astoria asked, clearly changing the subject.

Draco frowned, his hand returning to her waist, though he was sure to keep his grip light. “Of what?”

“The rumors about You-Know-Who. I am surprised that my own parents seem so unbothered.”

“It doesn’t matter to them. It will hardly affect them. Their situation can only improve if they are true. And, if not, they will remain as they are.” Astoria bit her lip.

“I can’t see how it would improve. I’ll be honest, I know little of the history of this dark wizard.” Didn’t know of Him? Impossible. Her ignorance was astounding. Well, he would answer with the words he was instructed by his father to say; the answer by now was practiced and well-rehearsed.

“The rumors are false. The Ministry knows more than Potter, who I will tell you, is a fool, a delinquent, and loves to seek attention wherever he may find it. This is simply another ploy for the poor orphan boy to make a bid for the love and attention he never got from mummy.”

Astoria gave him a severe look, colored with mild shock. “Tuhat isn’t a nice thing to say at all.” The music ended, and she tugged out of his grasp. “I appreciate what you did for me. It was kind.” She gave him another disapproving look, before crossing the room, where her sister excitedly beckoned her over. Daphne caught his eye, giving him an adoring smile. He rolled his eyes. Daphne owed him. He didn’t do favors for free.

He caught sight of Pansy, whose mother was gripping her upper arm rather tightly, whispering angrily into her ear. He frowned and made his way over. Mrs. Parkinson saw him approach and immediately stopped, giving him a polite smile.

“Pansy.” He offered her his arm, leading her to the dance floor.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Hm. What was that about?” Mrs. Parkinson’s anger seemed to have dissipated now that she was whispering with her husband.

“Nothing of note.” Draco didn’t quite believe her, but he wasn’t going to beg or try to pry the information out of her. “That was really kind. What you did.”

Draco groans. “No. Call me that again, and I’ll hex you.” Pansy shakes her head, smiling.

“Why’d you do it?”

Draco sighed. “She’s our associate.”

“Our friend.”

“Careful. You’ll ruin our reputation with such sentiments.”

Pansy smirked. “Oh, I see. Well, Daphne appreciates it.”

Draco danced twice more with Pansy, though, he hated dancing. He suspected it would get Mrs. Parkinson off Pansy’s back, and at least with Pansy he didn’t have to worry about his “inner turmoil” being analyzed.


	24. Bellatrix (1967): In Trouble

Bellatrix was now sixteen, and as she dressed in her school uniform, she realized that she was nearly of age. She smirked. She couldn’t wait for her life to begin, for her to finally leave the rancid school behind, and free herself from all the teachers and students she simply couldn’t stand.   
She was due in the Great Hall for breakfast, and she grabbed her bag, before beginning the long trek to the Slytherin tables. Their common room was always so far from the central part of the castle. As she exited her dorm, she nearly ran into Andromeda, who had been on her way down. There was a tense silence between the two, until Bellatrix broke it, saying, “Your robes are too short. You’ll be due for a new pair. Write to Mother.”   
Andromeda bristled, looking down, and frowning. “I’ve gotten taller.”   
“Of course. All Black women are tall.” Andromeda flinched, and walked down the stairs without another word. Bellatrix noticed her sister flinched every time she heard her last name; it disgusted her to no end. She should be praising Circe for her good fortune to be born a Black. Few had such a privilege.   
Narcissa was in the common room, surrounded by her usual flock of empty-headed friends. “Bella—trix!” Narcissa called, barely remembering not to call her Bella in public. Rodolphus who had been waiting for her, much to Bellatrix’s displeasure, gave her a mocking look. Bellatrix ignored him, walking to her sister, ignoring the way Narcissa’s friends immediately fell quiet and gave her frightened looks. Good.   
“I asked Andromeda if she wanted to sit at the Quidditch match together, and she said yes. So, I was wondering if you would join us?” Bellatrix ignored the urge to scoff and roll her eyes.   
“No. I’ll be sitting with my friends.” Narcissa sighed and nodded, clearly disappointed with Bellatrix’s response. “You have a test today in Transfiguration? Good luck,” was all the condolences Bellatrix offered, before starting out the common room entrance, sighing when Rodolphus followed her.   
“Harsh.”   
“Oh please. You hardly speak to Rabastan.”   
“True. But, we are not women. Are you not prone to such frivolous things as pointless, frivolous relationships?”  
“I’ll show you what sort of hexes women are prone to if you continue to speak,” Bellatrix fired back, her hand flying to her wand. Rodolphus fixed her with a cold, deadly stare that made her throat dry.   
“I have no doubt you will.” Bellatrix didn’t respond, and instead, settled for walking faster, hoping to leave Rodolphus in the dust. As tall as she was, Rodolphus was taller, and had no problem matching her strides.  
“Why do you speak to me when you hate me?” Bellatrix asked, stopping and whirling to face him, her hands shaking. She was getting angry. So, incredibly angry.   
Rodolphus only smiled, without feeling or emotion. “I do hate you, this is true. I also find you amusing. Easy to rile.” He, this time, walked away at a pace so quick, that Bellatrix was forced to tail him, which sent her over the edge.   
She pulled her wand out, and while his back was turned, she sent a curse flying his way, one that launched him into the wall. He stood and fixed her with an angry, vindictive look, his eyes cold and hard. Bellatrix immediately knew that perhaps she had made a mistake, but before she could spend much time reflecting, Professor McGonagall came around the corner.   
“Miss Black! We do not hex students in the hallway. I would have expected far more from a prefect! Come with me,” McGonagall scolded, and for the first and only time in Bellatrix’s life, she was relieved to see the woman.   
She was led through the corridors, and she realized with growing irritation, she was being led to the Headmaster’s office on the seventh floor. She was escorted to the statue of the gargoyle, one she knew guarded Dumbledore’s office. Professor McGonagall said the password, “Orange Marmalade,” and the gargoyle moved aside, coming to life to reveal the wall splitting in two, the stone spiral staircase now visible.   
Bellatrix climbed the staircase after Professor McGonagall, the steps spiraling upward to carry her to the office. Her professor wrapped on the oak doors and entered when a soft voice directed her to.   
“Ah. Miss Black. I had not expected to see you in my office today. What seems to be the trouble?” Professor Dumbledore asked, sitting behind his desk, his hands folded in his lap.   
“Miss Black hexed the eldest Lestrange brother in the corridor! A rather violent hex if I do say so. Threw him nearly ten feet into a wall,” Professor McGonagall informed, eyeing Bellatrix.   
“I see. Leave us, if you would not mind, Minerva.” Professor McGonagall nodded, and left the room, the oak doors slamming shut behind her. “Have a seat,” Dumbledore offered, nodding his head to the seat across from his desk.   
“I’d prefer to stand.” Dumbledore sighed.   
“Very well, then. I suppose that, naturally, the question I must ask is why you hexed your fellow student in the hallway.”   
“He tried my patience,” Bellatrix answered.   
“I see. Does Mr. Lestrange bother you? You could tell me. If he did.”   
Rodolphus did bother her. But, what did he do? How could she tell him that his presence was always so vile, so threatening, though he never said nor did anything to prove it so?   
“No more than anyone else, I suppose.”  
Dumbledore gazed at her for a long time. “Mr. Lestrange is interesting, is he not? He never seems to say or do anything out of line. And yet, I do not quite believe his act. What do you think, Miss Black?”   
Bellatrix said nothing.   
“I shall contact Professor Slughorn. He will allocate whatever punishment he sees fit. As a reminder, at Hogwarts, we do not hex students in the corridors.” Bellatrix nodded. “Well, I have an appointment with someone applying for a job. He will be here shortly. If you would,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the door.   
Bellatrix left without another word, having no desire to speak to the Headmaster any longer. She exited the office and as she was walking down the hallway, lost in her thoughts, she very nearly ran into someone, coming out of a door she was very certain had not been there only moments ago.   
She jumped back. “Watch where you are go—” She stopped. She did not know who this dark-haired man was, and he looked far too old to be a student.   
He stared at her, his face cold and impassive. “And who might you be?”   
“Bellatrix Black,” she kept her voice haughty and cold.  
“I see.”   
“What are you doing here? You are no teacher, and you are certainly not a student.” Bellatrix looked him up and down, her nose wrinkling.   
“I am applying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.”   
“There are no vacancies,” Bellatrix retorted, scoffing.   
His eyes flashed, and for a moment, she thought she saw something murderous. “We shall see. I can be very persuasive.”   
“Mm. Well, I have class.” Bellatrix edged past him; head held high. It didn’t occur to her until later, that she never asked what his name was.


	25. Andromeda (1968): Ted Tonks

Andromeda was sitting with Molly and her new boyfriend, Arthur, listening to them squabble. Or, rather, Molly was angry at Arthur, who was agreeing with everything she said in a desperate attempt to end the disagreement.

“I told you. O.W.L.S are this year! You have got to be studying!”

“I agree. I am studying.”

“All you’ve done is read your Muggle Studies textbook! You’ve barely paid any attention to Transfiguration or Potions,” Molly huffed, tapping Arthur’s textbooks with her finger, her skin turning white with pressure as she ground her pointer finger into the cover.

Andromeda sighed, watching the sun glimmer through the window, lighting up the dusty library. “Molly, lay off him. You’re nagging.”

Molly turned to her, giving her a harsh glare. “Someone’s got to! If I didn’t, he’d never get anything done.” Andromeda decided it wouldn’t be wise to mention that Arthur Weasley had managed to pass every year before they were dating and would likely manage it this year as well.

After another few minutes, Andromeda stood, and began neatly organizing her papers and books into a stack, putting them away carefully.

“Where are you off to?” Arthur asked, clearly latching onto a change in subject other than his unopened Transfiguration book.

“Professor Dumbledore asked to see me.”

Molly turned, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t done anything.” Perhaps Bella was in some sort of trouble. She’d been acting off lately. She was full of impetuous fury and seemed to lash out at anyone or anything that moved, causing Andromeda to become increasingly concerned. Bellatrix had always been quick to anger, but it was fast approaching a volatile state.

She began the trek to the seventh floor, before meeting the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance. She hastily murmured the password and rode the spiral staircase. The oak door was already ajar, and she shut it behind her, listening to it click shut. Professor Dumbledore smiled at her.

“Ah, Andromeda. It is good to see you.”

“Hello,” Andromeda said, still a tad stiff and awkward when speaking with the professor.

“Come. Have a seat.” Andromeda sat opposite him, and crossed her ankles, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Might I ask the reason you have sent for me?” Professor Dumbledore smiled.

“I have a favor to ask. One that I think would be beneficial to you as well.”

Andromeda tensed, her muscles tight, poised to make her escape at any moment. A favor? That couldn’t be good.

“I can’t control my sister, if that is what you are asking,” she blurted immediately. Professor Dumbledore’s calm smile did not waver.

“No, I do not believe I can either. You mustn’t trouble yourself over her, Andromeda. I know that she is not your responsibility.” Andromeda frowned. It was difficult not to trouble oneself over their own sister, but she supposed she could try.

“Rather, this has nothing to do with your sister. This is a favor of a different nature entirely.”

“Okay,” Andromeda said, resisting the urge to nervously run her finger through her hair.

“I would like you to tutor a student,” he announced. Andromeda sighed in relief. Oh, that was fine. She had excellent grades in nearly every class, though Defense Against the Dark Arts tended to be a subject she struggled in, much to her family’s annoyance. She would be more than suited to tutor someone.

“I’d be happy to. Who, if I may ask?”

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Theodore Tonks.” Andromeda felt her heart drop and her stomach twist.

“Oh,” is all she managed to force through her closing throat.

“Would that be an issue for you?”

“My family wouldn’t like it,” Andromeda whispered. She didn’t hate muggle-borns, but that did not mean she had any plans of speaking with them or being near them in any capacity. Her father would be furious if he found she so much as spoke to one, unless she was spewing insults, and she had no desire to risk his fury. Not to mention, she couldn’t quite forget the horrible things she had seen in the final lesson.

“I have spoken to Mr. Tonks, and I believe you will find that he is willing to be treat this situation with privacy. Tutoring should always remain confidential to protect one’s personal academic business. I think he would be willing to treat the matter with the upmost discretion.”

Andromeda hesitated. She couldn’t very well say no to Professor Dumbledore, not after he had been so kind to her. “I will do it. But, it would have to remain a private matter. I—they cannot know.”

That night, she hovered outside of the Great Hall, watching Theodore, who appeared to be engaging in a very funny conversation with his housemates. She had to get him alone. She couldn’t speak with him if there was an audience present.

“Why are you staring at the Hufflepuff table?” Narcissa asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Andromeda yelped, whirling around.

“No reason,” she hissed. Narcissa, now thirteen, was a lot sharper than she used to be. She smirked and shook her head.

“Is it a boy?” Narcissa had also recently become quite obsessed with the opposite sex, and always wanted to know who Bellatrix and she were interested in. Bellatrix refused to entertain such nonsense, and Andromeda could safely say, absolutely no one.

“No.”

Andromeda headed into the Great Hall, striding towards the Slytherin table. Narcissa followed her. Andromeda sat at the very end, as always, smiling at the few friends she retained in her house. Narcissa gracefully sat beside her, as if she was seating herself on a throne, rather than a wooden bench.

“I do not believe you,” Narcissa lilted, smiling wide.

“Shouldn’t you be taking command of your ladies in waiting,” Andromeda snarked, gesturing toward Nysa Rosier, Thalassa Travers, and Aspasia Selwyn, who were trying to get Narcissa’s attention.

“Don’t tease, Andromeda.” Andromeda reached for a biscuit from a platter. “Andromeda! Are you not concerned about your figure?” Narcissa gasped, eyeing the biscuit as if it would shove itself down her throat and make her thirty pounds heavier.

“Do I need to be?” Andromeda asked, taking a bite, and reaching for the roast chicken.

“No. But you will if you continue to eat such fattening foods,” Narcissa reprimanded. “And who eats dessert before the main course! Andromeda you forget yourself.”

One of Andromeda’s friend snickered, and she had to shoot them a severe look. “Narcissa, go. I’ll talk to you later, and you can lecture me about my diet for as long as you please.” Narcissa huffed but did take her leave.

“Watch your figure, Andromeda,” Mary teased, passing Andromeda the potatoes.

“Oh, please. My sister eats plenty of sweets. Just not in public. She hoards them in her room at home, and then lectures the rest of us.”

Andromeda ate a few bites, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theodore get up from his seat, making to leave the Great Hall alone. She drops her spoon and gets up.

“Where are you going? You’ve barely touched a thing,” Mary laughed.

“I’ve got to watch my figure,” Andromeda said, throwing a smile over her shoulder, as she followed Theodore out of the Great Hall.

After a few paces, when they were well away from prying eyes and listening ears, Andromeda called, “Theodore?”

He spun around, looking confused. When he saw her, he grinned a wide, smile.

“I thought you were my grandmother. No one else calls me Theodore.”

“I am not. I’m Andromeda Black.” Andromeda was sure to keep at least six feet from him at all times, lest he come closer. She had to remind herself that what she saw in her father’s pensive was nothing more than a terrible vision, designed to make her afraid. She had no real, honest reason to be afraid.

He gave her a funny look. “I know who you are. Pretty sure everyone does.” He took a small step forward, and she looked over her shoulder, and took another one back.

“I am to tutor you. Professor Dumbledore said you require help in Ancient Runes and Charms.”

“Yeah! That’s right. He said he would assign someone, though I must say, I didn’t think it would be you.”

Andromeda resisted the urge to run, when she thought she saw a flash of Slytherin robes, and when it was only Mrs. Norris, she took a deep breath. “I would like to speak somewhere in private. If you please.”

“Sure! No problem. Um, we could just duck into this classroom right here. I’m not embarrassed about being tutored, if that’s what you are wondering about.” Andromeda didn’t answer, and turned toward the classroom, hastily entering.

“What do you wish to be called?” she asked when he entered behind her. He looked a little taken aback.

“Oh, er, Ted. I go by Ted.”

Andromeda wrinkled her nose. What a common name! She quickly schooled her expression. “Very well, Ted. I want to speak to you regarding matters of secrecy. I wish our sessions to remain private.”

“You don’t have to worry about all that. Like I said, I don’t think it’s really a big deal to ask for help when you need it.” Andromeda bristled.

“I do not want to keep it a secret for your sake, Ted. I have my own reasons for keeping it private. I wish for our sessions to remain private. Do not speak of them. To anyone.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, can I ask why?” Ted looked at her, giving her a lopsided grin.

“No. You may not,” Andromeda said, crossing her arms.

Ted paused, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to say next. “Well, alright then. Where do you want to meet?”

“Empty classroom. Near Gryffindor Tower.” No one from her house would be caught dead handing around there, making it very unlikely she would be caught with Ted.

“Sounds good. Does seven work for you? If not—"

“Yes. Fine.”

“Great. Thanks for helping me out.” Andromeda said nothing, looking down. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Andromeda glared at him.

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know. Like you’re writing an essay, but you’re talking.”

“I am not answering such a ridiculous question. I will be going. I’ll see you Tuesdays and Thursdays. Do not be late.” With that, Andromeda strode out of the room, her hands shaking slightly.


	26. Narcissa (1968): Farewell to Mr. Leach

Lucius Malfoy was holding a copy of The Daily Prophet, smirking as he shook it.

“Nobby Leach has resigned,” he announced, proudly. There were several claps and cheer and Evan stood, clapping him on the back.

“I see Mr. Abraxus Malfoy has been busy,” her cousin said, grinning slyly.

Lucius raised his hands mockingly, and said, “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” with a smile that made Narcissa think that he most definitely knew what Rosier referred to.

“Where on earth is Andromeda? I hardly see her,” Aspasia asked her, leaning forward, clearly boered of the conversation about the former Minister of Magic. Narcissa sighed, resting her chin delicately on her hand, and reluctantly tearing herself from hearing more about Leach.

“I do not know. She always disappears with such haste after dinner. It is quite strange. I think she is seeing a boy,” Narcissa said, whispering conspiratorially.

“A boy? Oh, who? Do you think it to be Rabastan Lestrange? I heard that he thinks your sister is pretty,” Nysa suggested, turning to Narcissa.

“Oh no. I do not think so. Andromeda hardly looks in his direction. I must say, Andromeda doesn’t seem to have much of a taste for boys.”

“That is not true. She kissed Marcion,” Thalassa informed Narcissa, smiling. Narcissa huffed.

“I know that. I am talking in a general sense,” Narcissa bit out. She had not known that Andromeda kissed Marcion Rowle. She cannot believe she had not been told.

Andromeda just entered the room, looking to be in quite a hurry. She headed up the stairs and toward the dormitories, and Narcissa excused herself, following her. Andromeda entered her empty dorm room, setting down her bag with a huff.

“Where have you been?” Andromeda started and whirled around.

“Studying. With Molly.” Narcissa sighed. Of course. Andromeda was incredibly boring, even more so than Bellatrix as of late.

“You did not tell me of your kiss with Marcion Rowle,” Narcissa accused, watching as Andromeda flinched.

“He kissed me. I did not kiss him. Besides, there was nothing to tell. I do not like him, and I doubt he has, in any way, serious intentions,” Andromeda stated, calmly.

“Did you kiss him back?”

“I attempted. He isn’t exactly an easy person to kiss back,” Andromeda informed, flopping down upon her bed, reaching into her bag, and picking up a book.

“Don’t lie across your bed in such a way. It is undignified!” Narcissa hissed, ripping the book from Andromeda’s hands. “Tell me about the kiss. I want to know. It is decidedly unfair that you have chosen to keep it from me.” It was also hurtful, to think that she could not be trusted with such a secret, and even more hurtful she had to hear about her sister’s kiss with Marcion Rowle from Thalassa Travers!

“Narcissa, it is hardly appropriate—”

“I am almost fourteen! I can know about a silly kiss. You just don’t want to tell me.”

Andromeda laughed and said, “Alright. Sit.” Narcissa sat next to Andromeda.

“If you must know, he approached me after the Quidditch match, talked to me for nearly five minutes, before grabbing me, and shoving his tongue down my throat. It was crass, and because I was so surprised, I tried to kiss back, but he was so incredibly controlling, that I could not. I’m hoping it will be the worst kiss of my life, because I can not stomach another one so dreadful.” Narcissa sighed. She had been hoping it had been like in her books, sweet and lovely. It seemed, it was instead, like everything seemed to be about relationships, something to be endured.

“You should tell Bellatrix. She would hex him,” Narcissa advised. Andromeda smiled.

“It wasn’t bad enough of a kiss to sick Bella on him. I’m not sure any deserve that punishment.” Andromeda and Narcissa looked at each other a moment.

“I worry for her. I cannot discern the reason for her anger, but it is now, nearly always constant. Andromeda, sometimes, she scares me,” Narcissa confessed.

Andromeda sighed. “She told me.”

“What?”

“She told me father spoke to her. She is to get married.”

“She is much too young!” Narcissa stood, looking startled.

“She is of age. Father says it will come about in two years, maybe a little less. She will be near twenty by then.” Andromeda stood and walked to the window, staring out at the lake. “I think she fears who it will be.”

“Well, I think it should be Sinis. They get along well.”

Andromeda laughed. “What a matchmaker you are. You should write, suggest it to father.”

Narcissa frowned. “I cannot wait to be married. I cannot imagine why on earth she should feel the need to lash out so.”

Andromeda looked at Narcissa for a long moment, before saying, “Narcissa, when you look at mother, and the role she plays, can you imagine Bellatrix being happy doing something like that?” Narcissa’s eyes widened. No, she could not. Bellatrix was anything but proper and demure. Perhaps if Father had not raised her to be so headstrong, Bellatrix would be content. But he had. Bellatrix would be miserable. It did not matter who she was with. “I think, that while becoming like Mother, is your greatest wish, it is Bellatrix’s greatest fear.”

“I don’t want to be like Mother. I simply accept my fate,” Narcissa whispered. “I, I want to be in love, want someone to value my opinion and talents, but I know it is not to be. I must simply forget those silly notions, and Bellatrix will have to as well. The sooner she does, the sooner she will be happier.”

Andromeda, said, suddenly. “What if she didn’t marry who Father told her?” Narcissa gasped, grabbing Andromeda’s sleeve.

“Andromeda! How could say such things? You know that she cannot. She would be cast out! She values us far too much to simply cast us aside.” Andromeda sighed, and nodded.

“Right. Of course,” Andromeda said, shaking her head. Narcissa could tell Andromeda was done talking and left, before they got into a spat. She hated fighting with her sisters.


	27. *********(September 1st, 1995): I Watch

_I watch her from the shadows, crouching in an unseen place, as she walks, staring at the area in awe. I have seen her here time and time again, and as I step forward, I know what I must do, though a small part of me feels guilty. I should not have talked to Helena._

_I see the swarm of Death Eaters and good, respectable wizards, all standing together, sure to set themselves apart from everyone around them. I lean around the corner when I see filth walking forward, not looking, straight toward her. I reach out my hand, and like a musician plucking a string, I simply tug her shoelaces, allowing her to step forward and trip, right into the boy. Once they see her behavior, she will be sent away. He will never be able to stomach her again. I am sure of it._

_Superaō Tempus_


	28. Astoria (August 31st- September 1st 1995): A Tug on a Shoelace

Astoria was at tea again with Daphne’s friends, this time at Theodore’s Nott’s estate, and they were gathered in the drawing room

Astoria was looking at the Daily Prophet, scanning through it. “My, my. This Harry Potter sure is in here quite a lot. “A tale worthy of Harry Potter, attention seeking, and wanting others to worship him?’ Astoria said, reading through the various barbs directed at the boy.

Pansy scoffed. “It’s an apt description. Believe me, Astoria. Potter will somehow worm his way into being the center of attention this year, mark my words.”

Astoria frowned, as she came across an ad for “Skiving Snackboxes.” Those looked fun. She was about to open her mouth, and point to the add, but Daphne shook her head, having seen what add caught Astoria’s attention. Astoria shrugged and turned the page, scanning the next few pages that seemed to be dedicated to slandering Albus Dumbledore.

“Potter managed not to get expelled, though I can’t contrive how he managed it. My father is calling him Patronus Potter,” Draco sneered, taking tea off a tray, without putting a single iota of sugar and cream in his cup. Astoria wrinkled her nose, as she dropped in three cubes of sugar and a substantial amount of cream into her own cup.

“Expelled? Whatever for?” Daphne asked.

“Underage magic, Daphne. The Patronus charm. Claimed there were Dementors attacking him. Likely story, in my opinion,” Theo said, smirking, grabbing the Prophet from Astoria’s hands and opening it to the page discussing Harry’s hearing, and dropping it in Daphne’s lap.

Astoria frowned, before getting up and walking to the window, in sudden need of air. The window was open, and the warm summer breeze blew through the room, as Astoria leaned out the window, letting the sun hit her face.

“Daphne, your sister must not find us to be pleasant company. She appears to be ready to pitch herself out the window in protest,” Blaise teased.

“I was only just considering it, though if Draco mentions his father again, I will lean a little farther,” Astoria said, throwing a mischievous smile over her shoulder. Draco gave her a contemptuous look. “Oh, Draco. I’m kidding. You know there is nothing more enjoyable then hearing a play-by-play of your father’s conversations with the Minister of Magic.”

“I see Little Greengrass has a mouth on her. Daphne, you would do well to advise your sister to learn when to keep it closed. It’s caused her no end of _trouble_ already,” said Draco, both condescending her by refusing to talk to her directly, as if she were his equal, and reminding her that she unfortunately owed him. Big time.

Astoria sighed and sat down again, next to Theodore, looking wistfully at the bookshelves. She thought to go and grab a book, but she would undoubtedly be teased.

“Term begins tomorrow! I’m looking forward to it. This summer has been rather dull,” Daphne said, eyes sparkling, though her excited tone did nothing to hide the fact she was desperate for a subject change. Astoria smiled at Daphne, glad to see her excited over something. Daphne had been spending an almost suffocating amount of time with her, and Astoria on more than one occasion, had caught her sister crying.

Theodore stood, leaving a space between her and Draco, crossing the room to the window, taking a look outside himself.

“I heard we have two prefects among us,” Astoria said. Pansy gave her a small smile. “That’s very exciting. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Pansy said. Draco didn’t respond, but he did look slightly less angry with her.

The conversation turned to O.W.L.S, something Astoria would not have to worry about for another two years. That was one thing she found she had trouble forgiving her father for. Delaying her education a year had always been a sore spot for Astoria, and now, as she thought upon the unfortunate task of having to explain why she was the oldest in her year yet again, she felt her stomach twist.

“Your first day is tomorrow,” Draco murmured, leaning across the space that Theo had left between them.

“I’m terribly nervous, to tell you the truth,” Astoria admitted.

“Never admit you’re nervous,” Draco told her, tone serious. Astoria looked toward him, startled. “Negative emotions ought to be hidden. They could be used against you.”

“Must you treat the world like as if it is full of conniving swindlers and tricksters?” Astoria asked, rolling her eyes, teasing.

“It is. If you believe it isn’t, you are naïve.”

Astoria turned to him, meeting his eyes. “I supposed I thought you wouldn’t use it against me.”

“I might,” Draco said, nonchalantly. Astoria bit her lip, and looked at her hands, folded neatly in her lap over her mauve robes. “I would advise you not to be nervous. People will know you are a Greengrass. They will know you are not to be trifled with,” he added. Astoria smiled at him, knowing by now that was the only sort of comfort he felt himself able to give.

“I don’t know. You’re a Malfoy. I trifle with you plenty.”

“You’re vexing.” Astoria rolled her eyes at his comment, her lip twitching with amusement.

* * *

September 1st 

She didn't know how she managed it given her excitement, but she managed to fall asleep, and she awoke to the sound of Daphne wrapping on her door in the morning. 

“Astoria! You’ve missed breakfast and we leave within the hour!” Astoria groaned and pulled herself out of bed, lamenting the loss of breakfast.

The house was in a tizzy that morning, with the house-elf popping around, grabbing things, and getting frustrated when Astoria would run all the way back upstairs to fetch something herself, rather than ask for help.

“Sorry. Force of habit.” The house-elf did not accept her apology nor her explanation.

Astoria avoided looking at the tearful goodbye her mother was bestowing on Daphne who looked as if she was still quite upset at her mother’s words nearly a month ago. Astoria took her father’s hand, noticing that her mother was staying behind, and they apparated away with a crack.

Astoria stood on a bustling platform, looking at the gleaming red steam engine before her, and watching the swarms of students and parents hustling to and fro, calling out farewells.

Astoria took a step forward, still staring at the train, and she thought she felt a tug on her shoelace, before she plowed straight into someone, both of them stumbling back, while the boy dropped his trunk, which sprang open, spilling its items.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m incredibly clumsy I’m afraid. I’ll help you with that,” Astoria offered, crouching down to hand the boy back his things, helping him pack them back in his trunk. He had mousy brown hair and sweet eyes, though they kept glancing nervously to her sister, who was standing in a crowd with her friends and their parents a little ways away. “I’m Astoria. Nice to meet you,” she said, offering him his quills that had rolled out of his trunk.

“Collin Creevey. Nice to meet you,” the boy said, smiling. All of a sudden, a hand grabbed Astoria’s arm tugging her back harshly, nails digging into her skin. Astoria whipped her head around, for a moment, thinking someone from the Circus had finally found her, and let out a breath when she saw it was Daphne.

“Daphne! You scared me.” Her sister was pulling her away with a kind of panicked ferocity she hadn’t before displayed, and Collin gave her a frightened look.

“Daphne! What—” Astoria began.

“Look around you, Astoria!” Daphne hissed. Astoria was shocked, having never seen an expression so angry on her sister’s face before. Astoria looked toward her father, to find him staring at her with a disgusted expression. Draco stood by Lucius, and unreadable look on his face, while his father looked like he was ready to charge toward her and curse her. Pansy gave her a cold glare, which was shared by her family as well. As Astoria looked at the Notts, the Crabbes, the Goyles, and even Blaise and his mother, she saw horrified and menacing looks from each of them.

Daphne ushered her toward the train, and her friends followed quickly behind. They did not say a word, as they boarded the train, and Daphne shoved Astoria into a compartment. “Sit!”

“What on earth have I done? I cannot think of one thing I have—” Astoria stopped when Daphne held up her hand.

“Don’t speak.”

Astoria felt her eyes fill up with tears of embarrassment and anxiety as Draco, Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and Crabbe and Goyle headed in after. Pansy and Draco remained standing.

“We are going to the prefects compartment. We will return shortly, and discuss this,” Draco announced, before leaving with Pansy. Astoria sat in silence, running the past five minutes through her mind, trying to analyze every move she had made. What one earth had she done? Surely, this was not all due to her fall. Clumsy could hardly be considered this heinous of a crime. And what on earth gave Draco Malfoy the right to discuss her affairs? Who gave _him_ the authority? 

When Draco and Pansy returned, they sat down and Astoria avoided their gaze, upset that she was being treated as if she were a misbehaving child. Draco seemed to be analyzing her and Astoria, fed up, met his stare with a challenging glare.

Finally, Draco spoke. “Astoria cannot have known who that boy was. Her mistake was substantial, but there were no ill intentions behind it.”

Astoria gaped at him, in disbelief. Was he serious? “You are a pompous arse! I did nothing wrong. I’m sorry if I tripped and embarrassed you, but this is ridiculous. If my mistakes are so _substantial_ , perhaps I should leave,” Astoria fumed, standing up.

Draco stood, blocking her exit. “Sit. Let us explain. If you are still furious, then you may storm away like a petulant child.” Astoria glared at him but sat back down. She hardly thought she was the one acting childish!

The group seemed to have realized that she truly didn’t know what she had done and were now giving her sympathetic looks, the kind you give to an errant fool who has made some blunder due to their lack of understanding.

“Astoria,” Daphne began, her hands nervously twisting in her lap. “There are some people you ought not to associate with at Hogwarts. Creevey, though I know that you were unaware, is of muggle parentage,” Daphne finished.

Astoria froze. “You cannot be serious,” she said.

Draco nodded gravely, misinterpreting her statement as shock over her encounter with Creevey, rather than the words that had just left her sister’s mouth.

“You mustn’t be so friendly with them, Astoria. Here,” Daphne said, reaching into her trunk and pulling out a thin, black book, with grand lettering that read _The Sacred-Twenty-Eight._ Astoria took it, and began to rifle through it, flipping the pages, her nose wrinkling.

“If their name is in that book, then you can associate with them, as a general rule. Of course, there are many other pure-bloods, like Blaise, who are perfectly acceptable to consort with. Half-bloods, too. Just, be more careful in the future. Don’t speak so friendly with someone unless you are sure of their parentage.”

It clicked then, for Astoria; the nonsense she had been reading all summer, was in fact, not just inane ideas buried in some old religious text, but real, actual, current beliefs. Astoria looked at all of them, and for a moment, she considered walking out on them, abandoning them to their prejudice. But, they had been kind to her, and Astoria didn’t believe they were hateful at heart. She had seen evidence that they weren’t. She didn’t give up on people at the first sign of trouble, and they clearly needed her help. They didn’t have their heads on straight. At least, that is perhaps what she told herself. In reality, they were all the most interesting and fascinating people she had ever met; they drew her in, and she couldn’t quite abandon them, though she knew she likely should.

Once someone was her friend, she was their friend. No matter what. She began to think carefully about what she ought to say, so as to diffuse the situation whilst standing her ground.

“I see. Well, I suppose, I will thank you, not for your actions, which I find to be misguided, but your intentions. It is clear you believe you have saved me from some grave mistake.” Draco’s brow furrowed and Astoria willed herself not to lose her resolve.

“I do not believe that someone is unworthy to be my friend because of, quite frankly, a silly thing like that.” Draco opened his mouth, fury clear on his face, but Astoria continued. “I have truly, enjoyed getting to know you all this summer, and I truthfully call you my friends. But, I’m not going to let a book tell me who I can and cannot associate with. I wouldn’t let a silly book keep me from being friends with all of you, and I’m not going to let it keep me from being friends with others. If this means the end of our friendship, then I will be disappointed, but I suppose it will be the end.” Astoria waited a moment and was met with angry and mistrustful silence. “Fine. Well, if you change your mind, come find me,” Astoria said, trying to ignore how hurt she felt.

With that, Astoria stood, dropping the book in Draco’s lap, before exiting the compartment and leaving them to look after her, with incredulous and angry stares. She would give them time to consider what she said, perhaps then they would understand her way of thinking. Astoria strode down the corridor, looking for another compartment. She saw the boy from earlier and knocked on the door, a little hesitantly. He looked at her cautiously, as if she were a cobra ready to strike, but opened the door.

“Hello. I’m sorry about earlier. Can I sit with you?” Astoria gave him a hopeful smile and he stepped aside. She took a seat next to a dark-haired girl, who gave her a sour look and crossed her arms, turning her nose up into the air.

“So, you said your name is Astoria. Astoria what?” Collin asked, leaning forward. Astoria swallowed.

“Greengrass. Daphne is my sister.” The girl next to her scooted away, putting more distance between them.

“Oh. That would explain earlier.” Collin looked out the window, a stubborn, willful look on his face, and Astoria could tell he already considered her sister and she one in the same.

“I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t know she could be like that,” Astoria said, her tone apologetic. Collin stared at her a moment, his expression softening slightly.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he said, finally, after seemingly deciding she wasn’t an enemy.

“I was being schooled internationally,” Astoria said, briskly. Collin looked a little surprised, as if he hadn’t expected that answer. Astoria had become quite good at replicating the accent around her, and her slip-ups were rare. No one would have any idea she had spent the majority of her life abroad.

“Will you be sorted?” the girl next to her asked.

“I have already been sorted into Slytherin.” The two shared a dark look. “I can tell you do not think that a good thing,” Astoria said, laughing.

Collin gave her a long look, before smiling. “No. We don’t. We won’t hold it against you, though.” The girl looked like she didn’t quite agree.

Astoria laughed. “Thank you.” She turned to the girl beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Romilda Vane.”

“Pretty,” Astoria complimented. Romilda seemed to warm up after the compliment, and by the time the train ride was over, Astoria found she had two new friends, making it hard to worry about the ones she might have lost.

As they left the compartment, and exited the train, Astoria saw Draco push through a crowd of students to get through to the carriages. Perhaps it was for the best they were rejecting her offer of friendship.

Astoria was led by Collin and Romilda to the carriages, when she heard a voice ahead call out, “Greengrass.” Astoria turned to find Draco giving her a cold look. If he was waiting for her to run to him and apologize, he could stand there forever, thought Astoria. It was a brief battle of wills, but Draco sighed and begrudgingly nodded to his carriage. “Sit with us.” Astoria smiled. It seemed they weren’t going to give her the silent treatment after all.

“I’ll see you both later,” she said to Collin and Romilda who looked at each other with a look of bewilderment, before nodding.

Perhaps, she could help her sister’s friends to see clearly. She had no doubt, if she had read all those awful books her whole life, she might have found herself programmed to replicate the words the books held; she might not have been lucky enough to have received a better upbringing. She reached Draco, who sighed as if she were an inconvenience that he felt he had to sacrifice a great deal for. “Get in,” he commanded. She climbed in and sat next to Daphne.

“I see you aren’t all casting me out,” Astoria teased. Draco sighed as he settled into the seat across from her, stepping over Pansy’s legs.

“You’re one of us Little Greengrass. It appears we will have to accommodate for your obscure beliefs,” Draco said, sounding like he found her to be some exotic bird, or strange creature. Astoria looked around at the student body at Hogwarts, mingling together without a second thought, and didn’t think she was the one who held obscure beliefs.

Daphne turned to her and said carefully. “If you want to be casual friends with them, I suppose that isn’t too damaging, but you must remember to be prudent, Astoria. You can be seen as eccentric, but not as a blood-traitor.”

“What’s a blood-traitor?” Astoria asked.

Daphne was about to answer, but Draco interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to be one.”

Pansy sighed, and supplying a change of subject, said, “I see Grubbly-Plank is back. I must say, I’m beyond thankful for that. I don’t fancy spending my fifth year stuck in the infirmary because that oaf brings in some horrible creature that tries to kill us all. Again.”

Astoria’s eyes widened. “What?”

Theodore grinned at her. “See, there is a class here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, known as Care of Magical Creatures. Unfortunately, it’s taught by a half-breed giant, who thinks the class is called How to Get Eaten 101.”

Astoria looked startled. “Oh. Well, I didn’t sign up for that class.” She was very grateful she hadn’t, if it was taught by someone with no regard for student safety.

Daphne looked out the window, then turned to her and said, “Look, Astoria. There it is. Hogwarts.”

Astoria looked out her window, craning her neck, and caught sight of a large castle, with many towers and turrets. She sighed. She had waited her whole life to be in this carriage, with her sister, to be home. And yet, as she sat in the carriage, listening to her housemates complain about the school, a very far-off sound, she couldn’t help but get an ominous feeling, as if now was perhaps the worst possible time her family could have chosen for her to come home.


	29. Draco (September 1st 1995): Arrival at Hogwarts

September 1st, 1995

Hogwarts Castle with all its turrets and towers, rose amongst a backdrop of the night sky, it’s windows casting a soft glow the seemed to penetrate the darkness. Draco might complain about Hogwarts as if the entirety of his inheritance were staked on the fact that others knew just how much he hated the place, but a part of him was eager to escape the saturnine manor for a brighter, warmer place and leave behind the desolate halls.

Draco climbed out of the horseless carriages, smirking slightly as he watched Astoria examine the front, reaching out to touch where the horse would undoubtedly have been. He frowned when her hand stopped, flattening against thin air, as if she was touching something.

“They are magic. That’s why horses never pull them,” Draco said, leaning against the outside of the carriage, though he thought that rather obvious. Astoria looked up at him, before gazing back at the empty space.

“So, what’s this, then. If not a horse? I mean, it’s horse-like, but—”

“Are you coming? I don’t want to have to sit next to first years,” Theo called, cutting her off. Astoria threw one last look over her shoulder, before turning, and following him up towards the castle. Draco eyed where she had been looking, but still saw nothing. He must have misunderstood her. He turned toward the group who were still waiting for him, and he pushed past them to walk in front, leading them toward the Great Hall.

Draco managed to secure them spots near the center of the table, after ordering some second years to move down. He took his seat, and watched with glee as Harry Potter entered, earning himself a bout of whispering and pointing, colored with mistrustful glances. Astoria watched him with interest, craning her neck to see him.

“That’s him? Harry Potter?” she asked, excitedly. Draco crossed his arms, suddenly feeling very irritable. Daphne yanked her sister down into the seat.

“Astoria, don’t look at him,” Daphne hissed, shaking her head.

Draco smirked as he recalled his confrontation with Potter. He had certainly riled him, no doubt about that. _Dogging his footsteps._ One of his cleverer ripostes, in his opinion. Leave Potter to sort that one out.

“Trust me, there is nothing of interest about him, except the fact that he’s mad,” Draco assured Astoria before turning to the table, looking for who would be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He was not at all sad to see the old one go, for obvious reasons, the most pressing being that he didn’t fancy being transfigured into another small animal again.

Also, as much as he loathed to admit it to himself, he hadn’t enjoyed Professor Moody’s lessons. When he thought about the unforgivable curses, he felt squeamish, a fact he would never share with anyone, much less his father. He fought the urge to shudder and reminded himself it was a sentiment he would have to get over. His father could cast them without issue, and Draco knew he would just have to grit his teeth and find a way to overcome his weak revulsion. His father would surely call him a little girl if he knew. Draco sighed, clearing his head. He needn’t get worked up about it now. It would years before he was of age, and probably longer before he would be expected to cast curses like that. By then, he would be completely prepared.

Pansy gasped loudly, throwing a hand over her mouth, drawing Draco from his thoughts. “Merlin, Circe, Aeetes!”

“What?” Draco asked, watching her eyes light up with barely contained mirth.

“That might be the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen. Granger looks like a Witch Weekly model compared to her,” Pansy laughed, pointing at the staff table, at an, true to her word, extremely unattractive woman. Daphne delicately wrinkled her nose and turned away, as if her sensibilities couldn’t bear to gaze upon such a ghastly sight.

“Her sense of dress is certainly hideous,” Daphne commented, her lips twisting into a smirk. Astoria, who had been watching Crabbe bang his head against the table as if it was the thing to do, with a concerned expression, turned to find the object of their ridicule.

“Who is she?” Astoria asked. Everyone turned to Draco, looking at him expectantly, and once again he smirked, pleased at being the one who always knew the information.

“Her name is Umbridge. She’s been sent by The Ministry to keep Dumbledore in line, as ugly as she is,” Draco said.

Blaise shook his head. “Glad someone is going to. He’s off his rocker. Someone’s got to do something, even if that someone looks like a ghoul I found in my Great Aunt’s basement.” Daphne laughed lightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, throwing the woman one last disgusted look. Draco eyed gratefully, Professor Grubbly-Plank, also seated at the staff table. He had thought he heard his father say, before his mother caught him listening at the door, that Hagrid had been seen talking to giants in the mountains. His mother had angrily bore him away before he had been able to discern the significance of such a statement.

Professor McGonagall strode through entrance hall, leading the pack of frightened first years, carrying a stool and the Sorting Hat. She set the Sorting Hat on the stool with an air of finality, and Draco watched as Astoria eyed it with interest.

“Will it sing?” Astoria asked, looking at Daphne, who nodded.

Professor McGonagall stood back, and the entire hall waited, eager for the song to begin. As it opened its mouth, and began to sing, Draco frowned as the words fell from its mouth. Astoria listened intently, looking increasingly uncomfortable as it described the history of the school. He saw her bite her lip and glance down at her wand, which she was twisting in her hand, giving it a strange look.

When the hat was finished, Draco did not join in on the applause. Astoria turned to him, and said, “So, are you not friends with others from different houses?”

Draco scoffed. “No. We are not. Unity between the houses is a bunch of worthless drivel.”

“I’ve never liked sorting,” Astoria said. “At Ilvermorny, you could be resorted. It wasn’t permanent.”

Draco shook his head. “It’s tradition. What is wrong with tradition?”

Astoria sighed, and rested her chin on her hand. “Nothing. I just don’t like the idea of at eleven years old, telling someone who they are meant to be! As if one is going to be the same person at eleven that they are at seventeen.”

“People do not change,” Draco insisted. “You are who you are.” Astoria looked as if she disagreed immensely.

Pansy looked toward Astoria, not at all interested in the sorting going on. “Did you dislike sorting at Ilvermorny?”

Astoria shook her head. “No. But, it was different. The Houses were based on _what you did_ , like whether you wanted to be a scholar or a healer. They weren’t based on _who you were_ ,” Astoria said, and once again frowned at her wand.

No one paid her any more attention, and Draco watched the candles float above the hall, ignoring Professor McGonagall’s severe look, no doubt because they had been talking over the sorting.

Dumbledore stands, and Goyle looks as if he won’t be able to stand the wait for food any longer, and luckily, Dumbledore doesn’t speak long.

The food appeared, and Crabbe and Goyle moved faster than Draco had ever seen them, grabbing for the roast chicken. Daphne gave them a disgusted look, and reached for a platter of salad, putting some on her plate and passing Pansy one. Astoria eyed the steak and kidney pie mistrustfully and leaned over to ask Daphne if there is really kidney in it, or if it’s just a saying. In the end, faithfully copying her sister, Astoria reached for salad, though she covered it with dressing, much to Daphne’s disapproval.

“Draco, what do you think of what’s being printed in The Daily Prophet? Is it true?” Timothy Brookstone asked, leaning forward, his attempt to brown-nose apparent. Several heads turned in Draco’s direction and he smirked, reveling in the attention.

“The Prophet has published a fitting description, that I find more than fair. Potter’s been causing trouble for years, and I’m glad The Daily Prophet is finally holding him accountable.” Draco picked up his fork and stabbed a roast potato.

“I agree. I think, it’s oddly suspicious that Potter is the last one to see Cedric alive. I think he bumped off so he could win the tournament,” Brookstone said, eagerly, clearly clamoring for his approval. Draco’s stomach twisted slightly. Accusing one of murder was perhaps, going too far.

“I don’t think Potter has the skills to pull off that sort of scheme, Brookstone,” Draco said, in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. Brookstone flushed at how easily he was dismissed, and Draco smirked.

Draco was asked several questions of a similar nature, which he answered in a similar fashion, pleased that he alone at this table seemed to harbor the secret knowledge that Potter wasn’t far from the truth.

He could imagine what the world would look like, when _He_ finally became the new Minister of Magic. He imagined Potter and Weasley coming to school next year, having to accept the fact that _He_ was in charge now. Granger would likely be sent back to whichever hovel she hailed from.

He took a sip from his goblet, smirk widening. Pansy caught his eye and frowned. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He leaned across the table, whispering, “Thinking about what things will look like next year.” Pansy tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear and looked at her plate of lettuce.

“And what do you think that looks like?” Pansy asked, seriously.

“Potter and Weasley having to come to school knowing they lost. Granger will probably have to go back to muggle school, which I imagine will be incredibly dull,” Draco said, smirking. Draco watched Pansy give him a confused look.

“Draco, you can’t be serious,” Pansy said, sounding concerned. “You don’t really think—”

Pansy was interrupted by Tracey Davis, who slid into the seat beside Pansy, reaching for a chocolate biscuit. Draco noticed dessert had arrived, and watched Daphne try to keep Astoria away from the artic rolls.

“You going to starve your sister, Greengrass,” Draco teased. Daphne rolled her eyes but relented, letting Astoria take a slice of one. 

“Pansy, is that her,” Tracey whispered, tossing her braids over her shoulders, her eyes glittering with interest.

“Yes, that’s her,” Pansy said, smiling. Tracey shook her head, grinning.

“From the way Millicent was talking, it sounded like she was some clumsy loud-mouth. She looks completely normal to me,” Tracey said, craning her neck to get a good look.

Pansy bristled slightly. “She’s a _Greengrass_ ,” Pansy offered simply, as if there was no other explanation necessary. Tracey gave her a thin smile, no doubt reminded of her own lacking last name.

Draco noticed that Dumbledore stood, and was preparing to speak again, and the Great Hall fell silent. Dumbledore reminded them that the Forbidden Forest was off limits, and Draco remembered the figure hovering over the unicorn his first year and held back a sick expression. Dumbledore kept droning on, about how there was to be no magic in the corridor and he was just finishing introducing Umbridge as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, when she stood, and interrupted the Headmaster. Draco’s eyes widened in shock, not knowing whether to laugh at Dumbledore getting cut off, or groan in annoyance as the woman began to speak.

Umbridge spoke to them as if they were small children! Surely Weasley might need that sort of dumbing down, but Draco found it to be condescending when directed towards him. When Umbridge assured the students that they were going to be “very good friends,” Pansy sniggered and whispered, “I wouldn’t be friends with her if she gave me all the galleons in Gringotts.”

Blaise laughed. “That’s because your already filthy rich, Parkinson. I bet Weasley would be her friend.”

Draco stopped paying attention to the new professor and noticed that the staff was getting increasingly rankled by her speech. Professor Snape looked livid. Astoria was the only one at their table who looked remotely interested in what was being said, and her frown deepened.

The speech was finally over, and Draco was about to stand, when Astoria reached across the table and tugged his sleeve.

“Hm?” 

“Did you hear her? She said she wants to regulate what’s done at Hogwarts,” Astoria whispered.

“Yes, well. A student died last year. It needs to be regulated,” Draco said, shaking off her hand and standing up to lead the first years to the common room with Pansy. Astoria turned to her sister and began to whisper anxiously, but Daphne appeared to wave her off.

As Draco watched the Gryffindor first years cower at the sight of Potter, he smirked. Things appeared to be looking up this year.


	30. Andromeda (1968): A Misunderstanding Involving a Candle

1968

Andromeda sat across from Ted with her charms book open in front of them. The light in the classroom was dim, and Andromeda had to lean forward and squint to see the small print on the yellowed pages. Ted apparently also felt the need to lean in, and his forehead bumped against hers, though not painfully. Andromeda leapt back, her hand flying to her forehead. Ted laughed at her quick, skittish reaction.

“Sorry! It’s dark in here,” Ted said, as he stood, his chair moving across the wooden floor. Andromeda jumped at the noise, retreating farther into her chair, until her spine was pressed against the wood. Ted walked across the room, and opened a desk drawer, digging through it until he pulled out a small box of matches. Andromeda gasped, leaping up from her chair, her hand flying to her wand. Ted turned to face her.

“Thought I might light—” he stopped, looking at the wand pointed square between his eyes. “A candle,” he finished, eyes widening as he took in Andromeda’s weapon. “Andr—”

“Don’t say my name. Leave at once. I suppose you planned this, hm?” Andromeda took another step backward, hand shaking slightly as she gripped her wand tightly.

“I’m a little confused, Andromeda. I don’t know what I did—”

“Yes, you do! It is what vile, dirty things like you do! You’re going to hurt me, you’re going to—” Andromeda stopped, a sob escaping past her lips. Ted gave her a look like she was mad, and Andromeda, for a moment, thought she might be.

“Things like me?”

“Yes. I had begun to think that perhaps, my family’s ideas were misconceptions. I see now that it was wrong to trust you!” Andromeda backed away from him, nearly tripping over the hem of her robes, that her mother had ordered a little too long, expecting she would soon grow taller. Ted shook his head in disbelief.

“What are you on about?”

“You’re going to burn me!” Andromeda shrieked, her eyes desperately looking for a way to cut around Ted and make for the door.

“Burn you? You’re kidding.”

“I am not! Was this your plan? Who sent you? I suppose you have been at this school five years, and now you have finally got someone alone! The perfect chance! Well, I must warn you, I will curse you to high heaven if you take one more step!”

“A candle! I’m lighting a candle.” Ted said, his head tilted to the side, studying her.

“A candle?” Andromeda asked, her voice high, wavering slightly.

“Yes, Andromeda. A candle. I’m not dragging you to the pyre,” he joked. Andromeda did not lower her wand. He closed his eyes and sighed, before opening them, and giving her a small, shy but strained, smile. He held out the box of matches like an olive branch. “You light them.” He tossed them in the air, and Andromeda caught them, her fingers clamping tightly around the box. She crept toward the candles, turning her head every few steps to ensure he stayed where he was. His smile grew wider as she checked, and it occurred to her that he was laughing at her. His hands were raised, in a gesture of surrender, and Andromeda felt her heart rate begin to slow, and a blush rise to her cheeks. She had made a complete and utter fool of herself, not to mention she had insulted him, wrongfully.

Once the candles had been lit, he crossed the room, and sat back in his chair. “Right, so we were reviewing the Color Change Charm, right?” he asked, as though nothing had happened.

“Yes, the incantation is _Colvaria_ ,” Andromeda whispered, looking down at her hands.

“Awesome. Do you think you could show me the wand movement? It’s sort of a more fine and practiced motion. I have trouble with those sorts of movements.”

Andromeda did so, and as she watched him stumble over the movement, on instinct, she reached out to touch his hand, to help him. The minute she touched him though, she drew her hand back, gasping.

“Sorry.” He gave her a look, as if she was some queer bird that he couldn’t quite recall the name of. “It’s more of a tight circle, there. Yours is to lose,” she corrected hastily, trying to save face. 

Later that evening, as Ted was packing away his books, Andromeda cleared her throat, and he turned to look at her.

“I would like to apologize for my earlier behavior. I misread the situation and acted inappropriately. I apologize for my…insults.”

“You mean when you called me a dirty, vile thing?” His voice was light, but there was a bit of an edge to it. Andromeda felt her cheeks dampen and realized with horrible shame that she was crying.

“Yes. It was incorrect,” Andromeda said, her voice shaking, while she bent down to collect her books, letting her thick brown hair curtain her face from view.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ted asked. Andromeda flitted her eyes to his face, his bright blue eyes quizzical. She quickly looked away.

“Yes. Though, I may not answer,” Andromeda warned.

Ted considered her for a moment. “I can tell you’re afraid of me. You jump when I make a noise, or a sudden movement. You always keep your distance unless you get distracted. I thought you were just shy.” Andromeda neatly packed away her last book and kept her head down as she made her way to the door. Ted followed her, getting to the door first, and holding it open for her. She walked past him, ready to flee as soon as possible.

“Did you think I’d burn you? Is that why?” Andromeda turned to face him, biting her lip.

“No, not exactly. I didn’t think you would, but when I saw the matches, I panicked.” Ted laughed and Andromeda crossed her arms, glaring at him.

“You do know that no one has burned a witch in hundreds of years. Besides, I _am_ a wizard. I wouldn’t burn you.” Ted said, taking a step forward.

“I am aware. I’m afraid I was not always aware of that fact, and there are times when I forget myself,” Andromeda said, her tone soft.

“Right. Well, come on then,” Ted said, gesturing down the hallway, heading in the opposite direction of his common room.

“Come on? Where are we going?” Andromeda asked.

“Your common room. We finished quite late tonight. I’m not going to have you walk by yourself.”

“No!” Andromeda shouted. Ted turned to her, giving her another strange look.

“No?”

“I do not require your chivalry, though I thank you for the thought,” Andromeda said evenly. Ted was only a little taller than herself, and she was able to straighten her spine, throw back her shoulders, and look him straight in the eye, conveying that she would not waver on this.

“I don’t care. It’s late. I’m walking with you.”

“Please. My sister waits up for me. Bellatrix. I cannot—I cannot let her see you.”

“Because I’m a muggle-born.” Andromeda closed her eyes and nodded.

“I’ll walk behind you. You won’t even know I’m there.” Andromeda considered him, for a moment.

“If you must. Please stay out of sight. If the wrong people from my house catch you, I cannot aid you. You better pray Professor Slughorn is within shouting range.”

Ted rolled his eyes, grinning. “I may not be good at Charms, but I’ll have you know I have great marks in Defense. I bet I can take them.” Andromeda doubted it. She had seen Rodolphus wield his wand.

She turned on her heel and walked a few paces forward before she checked behind her to see Ted following her at a distance. She sighed and begged Circe not to let anyone from her house see her, though she knew Circe was probably furious with her for mentally forsaking the old ways and being willing to spend unauthorized time alone with a muggle-born. Circe would probably have Bellatrix come around the corner at any second to kill Ted.

Finally, when she reached the staircase that led down into the Slytherin common room, she turned to see Ted standing at the end of the corridor, watching her.

“Ted?” she called, as loudly as she dared.

“Yeah.”

“I know you’re a wizard.” She turned, opening the door and flying down the staircase, mumbling “Hemlock,” the password, to enter the common room.

Andromeda saw that Bellatrix was whispering in a corner with Rodolphus and had not noticed her. It did not appear to be a pleasant conversation 

“Please don’t ask my father. I already told you that I didn’t want—

“I have no choice, Bellatrix. My father has told me to ask, and I will. My asking is merely a formality, and you know it. I’m doing more than most would by warning you.”

“Rodolphus, I have never asked anything of you in my life. I am asking you this.” Rodolphus did not appear moved by her sister’s pleading, though Andromeda certainly was. She had never heard her sister beg or plead for anything or to anyone.

“It is decided. It does not matter if it is me, or if it is someone else. The result will be the same.” Bellatrix began to tremble.

“It does matter. I’d rather it be anyone else but you!” she spits, her hand going for her wand. Rodolphus clamped his hand tightly down on her wrist.

“Oh no, Bella. I do not think so.” Bellatrix gritted her teeth and Andromeda saw pain flash in sister’s eyes. Andromeda grabbed her wand from the pocket of her robes.

“Stupefy!” she shouted, throwing Rodolphus into a bookcase. Bellatrix gasped and turned to her. Rodolphus stood, groaning in pain, before giving her a look of controlled, cold, deadly, fury. His hand flexed, before he drew his wand, aiming it at her. Andromeda was surprised her stunning spell had even worked. Usually, they were quite weak.

“Rodolphus, don’t,” Bellatrix said. Rodolphus looked at her, and once again, the mask of cold derision slipped over his features.

“Remember my patience, Bellatrix. Now, take dear sister up to her room.” Bellatrix looked so angry, her black eyes glittering with what Andromeda saw as fear, and utter lack of control. Andromeda reached for her sister and dragged her to the dorm with great effort, sensing an impending explosion.

Once in the hallway, Bellatrix took several deep breaths, and walked into her room. “Out,” she commanded, as her dormmates scurred away like mice. Andromeda followed behind her, watching Bellatrix pace the room, fists shaking, blood trickling down her knuckles as her fingernails dug into her palms.

“Bellatrix. What does he mean?” Andromeda asked quietly, eyeing her sister’s bloodstained hands. Bellatrix needed help. But she couldn’t think of anyone in the world who _could_ help.

“Don’t be a fool!” spat Bellatrix. Bellatrix kept pacing, before whirling around, looking wild. “I’m marrying him. If you must know.”

“When?”

“Oh, not for another two or three years. I suppose I do have time left, even if it is a small amount. It’s my last year at Hogwarts; I should have known it was coming,” Bellatrix said, tone of a crazed sort of false complacency, but Andromeda could hear the panic underneath. That is perhaps, when Andromeda realized fully, the sick, perverted corruption of the world she was a slave to.

Andromeda wrinkled her nose in disgust. Rodolphus Lestrange would be a miserable choice. “No. Tell Father no. And, if he will not listen, run. Run away, Bellatrix!”

Bellatrix sank to her bed, her shoulders shaking, and Andromeda, realized with horror, her sister was crying. “I can’t. It is my duty, and I must make sacrifices for my families honor.” Andromeda sank beside her.

“What of Father’s duty to you? It his job to have your best interest at heart! If he does not fulfill his role, why should you yours?”

“Andromeda, I would be an outcast. Father would disown me, and I would be labeled a blood-traitor. I won’t sacrifice you or Narcissa for that. I _promised_ ,” Bellatrix whispered. Andromeda got a horrible feeling in her stomach, and she felt as if she would throw up, as the scar on her hand tingled mockingly. 

“I’ll run with you. The Prewetts would take us in. You could get a job! You have brilliant grades, and—

“No. Andromeda, we must realize that this is bigger than us! We have been given a gift, of pure, magical, blessed blood. I will not waste it by becoming a blood traitor. It is what I must do.”

Andromeda wanted to protest. She wanted to scream and yell, wake the entire castle up until someone saved her sister, until someone did something, instead of just bowing their heads, referring to old laws and old traditions. It was then, with an awful realization, that Andromeda understood the same fate would soon befall her.

“Leave me, please,” Bellatrix said. Andromeda nodded and crossed the room. “Andromeda?” She turned, hoping her sister had reconsidered, and that they could begin planning their life in some faraway place, with dreams and hopes greater than the ones chosen for them. “Thank you. For stunning him.”

Andromeda smiled. “I’ll stun him a million times. If that’s what it takes.”

“I can stun him myself, thank you.”


	31. Bellatrix (1968): A Puppet

1968

Bellatrix would never admit it, but she is beginning to grow fond of Hogwarts. Perhaps it was due to it being her final year, but Bellatrix suspected that it was what was to come after, that makes her frivolous in her nostalgia. Sentiment was for the weak.

And yet, she could help but lament leaving Hogwarts. How she had wished to, just last year! That had been foolish, and now, she awaited a fate to her, worse than death. And so, she thought, over the winter holidays, she would make an appeal to her father.

Even if she must marry, there were other prospects. She just wished it could be anyone other than Rodolphus, for he was most awful. He hardly looked or spoke to her, and she now spent most of her days alone, as she could not stomach having to spend time with Marcion or Sinis. Rodolphus always accompanied them, and she could not bear to be around him.

She would not even speak to her sisters, as nowadays, she could simply not control her temper. It was an untamable thing, and no matter what Bellatrix tried, deep breaths, walks along the black lake, or quiet reading in the library, it was not to be stemmed. So, she stayed away from her sisters, fearing she would scream or yell at them, sending Narcissa into tears and Andromeda into further resentment.

She had even stopped going to class, as she supposed it did not matter what her marks were to be, or whether she could pass her N.E.W.T.S, as she would spend the rest of her days locked in the Lestrange estate, trying not to go mad. Of course, as her anger rolled and churned, she worried she was fast approaching the point of madness, regardless.

She had taken to, when she could creep away, where no one could see or hear her, to walking to the forbidden forest in the dead, cold night, in nothing but her thin nightdress, bare feet crunching on the leaves. She would wait until the trees hid her, forming a gate around her form, before running as fast as she could manage. She let branches scratch her arms and sharp rocks cut her feet, until she fell to her knees, bruising them, as she caught her breath, unable to go further. She welcomed pain. It was bracing. She wanted to make others hurt sometimes, like Rodolphus. But, she could not, and so, she hurt herself.

Each time she went farther and farther into the forest, her strength and endurance growing with each midnight excursion. She didn’t know how on earth that was, as she hadn’t eaten much this entire week. If she thought of it, she had only a piece of toast this week, and perhaps a few pieces of fruit. Her plan was to waste away into nothing; if her chest flattened out and she lost all curves, she would become undesirable. No one wanted a flat bride.

Next, she stuffed herself, eating until she felt sick, thinking if she became horribly fat, no one would want to marry her, and she could spend the rest of her days being rolled around her estate by house-elves, enjoying her freedom.

One day, she sat in the very back of the library, behind a dusty shelf filled with books on magical footwear, reading a book that was in the restricted section, Andromeda found her.

“I’ve thought about it, Bellatrix. Let us go to India!”

Bellatrix slammed her book closed, biting her tongue so hard, blood filled her mouth.

“No. I told you to leave me alone. We can’t leave Narcissa. You must know she would not go!”

“She would if we asked her to!” Andromeda protested. Bellatrix shook with anger, wanting to tear out her hair, wanting to hex Andromeda for teasing her with things they both knew to be impossible.

“We could see the tigers and the elephants!” Andromeda whispered. Bellatrix threw her book at her, and it cracked across Andromeda’s face, bruising.

“Shut up! Shut up! Please, or I will curse you. I’ll curse you until you can’t walk. I will. Leave!” Bellatrix’s chest heaved, her fingernails digging into her hands. Andromeda sighed.

“I know you are upset, and you don’t mean to cause me pain, Bella. But, I can’t help you if you don’t let me.” With that, Andromeda turned and left, while Bellatrix wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed.

There had to be a way. There had to.

* * *

Winter Holidays, 1968

Bellatrix knocked on her father’s door, stepping inside, when he bade her.

“Father, I do not wish to marry Lestrange. I do not wish to marry at all, but if I must, I would wish it to be anyone but him.”

“Why? He is wealthy, attractive enough, committed to upholding the traditions that bind our society together. I can think of no better match.”

“Father, I hate him.”

“I was not aware I was speaking with Narcissa, and her fanciful, ridiculous ideas of marriage. I think you doubt my judgment. You may hate him, but your children will be pure. I can think of nothing else more important.”

“Father, I will do anything you ask. Anything.”

“You are already to do anything I ask. Fathers do not barter with their daughters. Leave my office. Speak of this again, and you will force my hand.”

“Kill me. Curse me. Hit me. I do not care. That is a fate better than the one you give me away to.” Her father stands, and she has never seen him so angry.

“I will do none of those things. I will use the Imperius curse, Bellatrix.” Her father stood up, his wand pointed straight at her. He walked forward fisting his hand in her curls and jerking her head to the side, his wand digging into her temple. “I will take your will, make you a puppet, as if you were some, low, dirty, mudblood,” he croons, as if he were telling her he loved her. Perhaps, in his own way, he was.

Bellatrix trembled, because there could be no fate worse. She waited until he released her, with one final tug of her hair. She turned, and without another word, left her father.


	32. Andromeda (1968): Friends

1968

“You thought he was going to burn you? Andromeda how could you be so stupid! I cannot believe this!” Molly shouted, and Andromeda desperately tried to get her to lower her voice.

“Shh, Molly! Please, someone might hear. I just—Molly. I feel terrible. Well and truly.” That much was true. Andromeda had felt awful and had been dreading all of the winter holiday when she would have to see Ted again. He must have told the entire school, leaving half the students thinking her mad, and the other half thinking her weak for not hexing him. Oh, this was an awful thing indeed.

Arthur came around the corner, sitting at their table in the library. “Hey Molly. Hey Andromeda. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, as if you do not already know!” Andromeda moaned, placing her head down on the table.

“Know? Know what?” Andromeda looked at him hopefully. Ted and Arthur were close friends and if Ted had not told him, then perhaps he had told no one else.

Molly, however, ruined her secrecy. “Arthur, she thought Ted was going to burn her.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Andromeda, where do you get these ideas!” Andromeda glared at Arthur.

“Oh, perhaps I got them from history book after history book. Or perhaps I’ve seen—”

She stopped. She could not tell them about the final lesson. They wouldn’t understand.

“I was told he would.” There, an explanation not so far from the truth.

Molly scoffed. “You told me that you didn’t believe all of that rubbish anymore. That you’ve grown out of it!” Andromeda sighed, running her fingers delicately across her quill.

“I do not! I just got startled. I did not believe he would, not really. I just worked myself up. I was out of sorts.” Andromeda saw Arthur leafing through his Muggle Studies Textbook. “Arthur, did he really say nothing of the incident?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t even mention you were studying together. Molly told me that.”

Andromeda shot her a glare. “Must you tell him everything!”

“Arthur won’t say a word, Andromeda. _Will he?”_ She shot him a glare so fierce that Arthur cowered from it.

“No! I wouldn’t. You don’t need to be so—” He stopped. Smart boy.

Well, one thing was clear. Ted Tonks could keep a secret, a fact which she was immensely grateful for.

Just then, Bellatrix stormed from the library, pushing a first-year to the ground to get past him. Molly stood.

“Just what is wrong with her! I swear, if it were possible, she has become worse.”

“Molly, sit at once! My sister is going through a frightfully difficult time and now would be an awful and unkind time to trifle with her!” Molly gave Andromeda a startled look.

“Fine. Andromeda, I do think she is mad.” Andromeda felt tears prick her eyes and she began to neatly pack her books away. “Oh, Andromeda! Don’t. I’m sorry.”

“No, Molly. I fear you are right. But, what am I to do about it? We have no therapists or mental institutions as Arthur was talking about the other day! Wizarding society doesn’t give help to such people. So, refrain from insulting her, and leave me and her alone. If you please!” Andromeda gathered her things and left the library, hardly able to see where she was going. She turned down an empty hallway and tried to focus on her shoes, and blink back tears. Oh, Bellatrix was certainly flying off the handle, and Andromeda feared she would soon become unrecognizable.

“Andromeda.” She whipped around, hearing the voice she most desperately did not want to hear.

“Ted. I am afraid I am busy, so if you would excuse me.” Ted was wearing quidditch robes and must have just come from practice. They were a frightful shade of yellow, and they made his sandy hair look far blonder than it usually appeared.

“You look upset. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Andromeda assured, though she did not sound the least bit convincing.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, taking a step forward. Andromeda nervously peeked around the corner and Ted sighed, crossing the corridor to an empty classroom, opening the door, and gesturing inside. She sighed and ducked inside. He followed her inside and closed the door.

“What do wish to discuss?” Andromeda asked, setting her bag in a chair.

“I wanted to tell you that you can stop running the opposite direction every time you see me,” he said, lightly, laughing a bit. “You can relax about what happened. I’m not angry or anything.”

“Perhaps you should be!” Andromeda shouted.

Ted shook his head. “Andromeda, you looked scared. I mean, really scared. Terrified. _I’m_ sorry to have caused that sort of fear. I didn’t know I was capable, to be honest.” He paused, considering her a moment, before taking another step forward. “I think having a Black admit to my face they consider me a wizard, more than makes up for shouting.”

Andromeda flushed. “You must not repeat my words to anyone. It is not because I do not believe them to be true, but I could not have my family or any of their contemporaries find I do not perfectly align with their beliefs. They would cause me great pain, and I cannot imagine what they might do to you.”

Ted widened his eyes. “Wow. Okay, I’ve got to say, that sounds mad.” Andromeda flinched. Perhaps she was like Bellatrix and would soon fall to anger and lash out at everything that moved.

He stood still, staring at her for a long moment. “Andromeda, are you afraid of me?”

Andromeda met his eyes. “Ted, one must understand that I’ve been told some frightening thinks about the kind from which you hale. So, while I am trying not to be, and while I desperately do not want to fear you, there is a part of me that is indeed afraid.”

He laughed. “I’ve never frightened anyone in my life! Well, I must say, I don’t like the feeling.” Andromeda smiled. His laugh was so warm and bright, rather than cold and an imitation of true happiness like the laughs she was used to hearing. He really was difficult to be afraid of, in moments like these.

“Andromeda Black, by the time the year is up, you won’t be afraid of me. I guarantee it.”

Four weeks later, Andromeda sat in their empty classroom, watching Ted try to grow legs on his teacup. Finally, when it sprouted legs, and started across the table, Andromeda performed the counter charm, and the legs disappeared.

“You really are becoming quite good. You will not need my help soon enough,” Andromeda said.

“Then I will have to do worse.”

Andromeda froze and looked up, to find him grinning at her, with a lopsided, sunny smile. She swallowed nervously, fighting a blush.

“Oh.”

“I have a question for you,” Ted declared leaning across the table. Andromeda discreetly took a step back.

“And what might your question be?”

His face was suddenly very serious, and he looked grave. “Why did you think I would burn you? Surely Professor Binn’s lessons haven’t been too much for you,” Ted asked, playing his last bit off as a joke.

Andromeda did not why she spoke, and perhaps she never would. “I saw it happen.”

Ted’s eyes scrunched in confusion. “Andromeda, I think you’re confused. No witch has been burned in hundreds of years. You can’t have—”

“Are you aware of a pensive?” Andromeda asked, interrupting him. He shook his head. “A pensive is a magical object that stores memories from the past. When one wishes, they can view such memories. My family has one dedicated to family history. I saw one of my ancestors burned, and they took from her, her wand, so she was unable to fight back. It was quite horrific, and I’m afraid it has always troubled me.” She realized she was crying, and gasped lightly, running her hand across her wet cheek, hurriedly wiping the tears away.

She turned away, but continued to speak, now seemingly unable to stop now that she had started. “I had horrible nightmares. It made me sick to my stomach and I just couldn’t bear it most of the time. Even when I learned the truth, that wizards like you were not out to tie me to a pyre, I still couldn’t quite forget what I saw, and so—” Andromeda stopped, unable to continue. Ted moved forward, stretching his arm out to comfort her, and Andromeda took a hurried step back, nearly tripping. “Sorry, I— I am sorry. It appears I do not know my own mind. I shall leave at once. You no longer require my help.” Andromeda made for the door, racing toward it and leaving Ted standing there, calling after her. The doorknob would not turn, and though she desperately tried, it remained stuck. She heard a delighted snigger from the other side of the door. 

“Peeves,” Andromeda whispered, shaking, her palm red from pulling at the door.

“This is the first time I might actually have found an appreciation for Peeves,” Ted said. Andromeda whirled around, pressing her back against the door. Ted was walking toward her, and stopped at a respectful distance, but far closer than Andromeda would have wished. “I’m sorry. That must have been a hard thing to see. And you saw it? Last year?”

Andromeda closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. Before my first year at Hogwarts. Right before.”

“That’s vile!” Ted exclaimed. Andromeda looked at him, surprised.

“Well, all of The Families do it! So, there,” Andromeda said, defensively. Ted looked at her for a long time.

“Andromeda, no. That’s wrong.” Andromeda saw him take a step forward. “I would not hurt you.”

“No?”

Ted shook his head. “No.” He extended his hand. “Let’s be friends.” Andromeda hesitated, looking into his blue eyes, which were staring at her earnestly, waiting for her to take his hand.

“Why?” Andromeda asked, suspiciously.

“I enjoy your company, Andromeda. I like spending time with you. And I still need help with Charms. I’ll be hopeless without you.” Andromeda gave him a hesitant smile, and reached out, taking his hand, and letting him shake hers. “Excellent!”

Andromeda laughed lightly. She had a muggle-born friend. Something about that was a little exciting.


	33. Part Two: Promise

Part Two: Promise 


	34. Narcissa (Summer of 1969): We Plot

Summer of 1969

Narcissa smoothed the front of her violet blue robes as she followed behind the rest of her family up the steps of the Selwyn’s manor, keeping her eyes peeled for her friend Aspasia. When they entered the ballroom, she spotted her with Thalassa, engrossed in a conversation brimming with barely contained giggles, as they surveyed a group of boys their age. Narcissa split from her family as soon as it was appropriate making to join her friends, anxious to engage with the girls she had barely seen all summer.

“Narcissa!” Narcissa turned, searching for who was calling her, and saw Nysa walking toward her, anxiously looking over her shoulder, before grabbing her hand and pulling her to the side.

“Nysa! What—”

“Shh! Not here,” her cousin whispered. Narcissa rolled her eyes and let herself be led to the far corner of the ballroom.

“What?” Narcissa asked, as Nysa lifted the large, black velvet curtains that covered the windows and ducked behind it, pulling Narcissa after her. Narcissa flushed and hoped no one saw her standing behind the curtains like some immature child.

“What?” Narcissa repeated, annoyed with her cousin. Her uncle would certainly not permit such foolish behavior and she couldn’t believe that she would do such a thing.

“My sister, Nysa whispered, sounding panicked. “If I tell you something, you must swear you will never tell another living soul.”

Narcissa, excited about the prospect of being entrusted with a secret, nodded enthusiastically.

“No. I need a verbal agreement. This is of the utmost importance and can never be shared,” Nysa insisted.

“I will never tell another living soul,” Narcissa said, rolling her eyes.

“My sister, Theodosia,” Nysa whispered, her hands starting to shake as her eyes filled with tears. Narcissa looked alarmed and stepped forward, placing a hand on Nysa’s shoulder.

“Oh, what has happened? It’s alright,” Narcissa tried, sure to keep her voice low lest someone heard from outside the curtains.

“Theodosia has done something, Narcissa. She has done something terrible and I do not know what to do,” Nysa said, her voice trembling with fear. Narcissa knew all about worrying for one’s sister and wrapped her arms sympathetically around Nysa. “Oh, it is reprehensible,” wailed Nysa.

“Quiet, quiet. The ensemble is loud, but you would hate to have your voice carry over the music,” Narcissa warned. “What has she done, Nysa?”

“She is pregnant,” whispered Nysa, her hands shaking. Narcissa sighed in relief. Theodosia Rosier was among Narcissa’s eldest cousins and she had graduated Hogwarts two years ago. This, while certainly improper, could be rectified with a quick wedding.

“Theodosia must tell your father at once, Nysa. Uncle will be angry, but he will arrange things quickly for her and save her from shame,” Narcissa whispered, feeling awful for her cousin, but also included and mature for speaking on such adult matters. She was fourteen now, and she thought she was old enough to discuss societal scandal and be trusted to know of these delicate matters.

Nysa shook her head miserably, and bit her lip, small convulsions of horror wracking her frame. “She cannot,” moaned Nysa, voice thick with grief.

“And why not?” Narcissa asked.

Nysa bit her lip, looking almost sick to her stomach, before she leaned over and murmured, her whisper nigh unintelligible, “It is not a baby of good breeding. She has committed a wrong far greater than a simple mistake, Narcissa.”

Narcissa froze and she felt sick to her stomach, herself. Nysa ought to inform her father straight away. “How impure is it?” Narcissa asked. Perhaps Theodosia only lied with a half-blood, a horrible oversight, but not unforgivable.

“She lied with a muggle. Not even a muggle-born. A muggle,” Nysa said, gripping the velvet curtains for support. Narcissa gasped and stepped back, her jaw dropping.

“Whatever will she do?”

“I do not know,” Nysa cried. “What can she do? What can be done?”

“She’ll have to marry. Fast. As quickly as possible. Tomorrow, even. That’s what I would do,” whispered Narcissa, hands twisting slightly. This was too adult, a far more convoluted predicament than Narcissa felt equipped to deal with. Her mother had told her about such things of course, in the quiet, careful way her mother had such talks, but it was still hard for Narcissa to understand what that meant, hard for her to conceptualize the true meaning of what Nysa had told her. Nysa looked as though she barely understood such a concept herself and it made Narcissa wonder whether or not Nysa should have entrusted this to her.

“You need to tell your father, Nysa. He has to know,” Narcissa said, shaking. “He will know what to do. Perhaps, even tell your mother.”

“I can’t. You know I cannot. I was hoping, as was Theodosia, that we might tell Aunt Druella. Your mother.”

Narcissa frowned. She had always liked Theodosia, but when she thought of her mother and her quiet, earnest complacency, she doubted she would be much equipped to handle anything. But, she was the least likely of the entire family to cast Theodosia on the streets.

“I’ll speak to her. But, I cannot promise anything,” Narcissa said, and Nysa let out a very undignified sob before throwing her arms around Narcissa’s neck.

“Thank you. I cannot lose my sister. I would not survive it,” Nysa whispered. Narcissa understood that sentiment far too well, and she couldn’t be more grateful that her sisters would never make such a foolish mistake. They had _promised._

That night, after the assembly was over and the Black family had retired to their estate, Narcissa tugged on her mother’s robes and gave her a significant look. Her mother’s blue eyes widened, and she gave Narcissa a slight frown.

“Ella. Bed,” her father commanded, throwing an impatient look over his shoulder when her mother had not followed him dutifully up the stairs.

“May I have a minute? I believe Narcissa has matters to discuss with me,” her mother said, her sweet voice drifting up the stairwell toward her father, weak in it’s passiveness.

“Narcissa? You wish to speak to us?” her father said, turning to her. Narcissa should have known her father would never allow himself to be excluded from any conversation. And her mother certainly would not fight him on it. She never did.

Druella must have sensed Narcissa’s desperate need for a conversation her father wasn’t privy to, because she said, in her most delicate, submissive tone, “Cygnus, I believe it pertains to matters of a _feminine_ nature.” Her father gave them both a disgusted look, and Narcissa flushed from embarrassment under her father’s repulsed gaze, hating her mother for suggesting it to her father, and also loving her for her clever excuse. The mere mention of catamenia was enough to send her father’s heavy footsteps thudding in the opposite direction, leaving her mother free to take Narcissa’s hand and lead her to her room.

Narcissa sat on her bed and her mother sat next to her, hands folded in her lap as she gazed at her daughter with a patient expression.

“What troubles you?” her mother asked, and Narcissa took a deep breath.

“It is Theodosia, Mother.”

“Oh? What of her, Narcissa?”

Narcissa now sympathized with Nysa’s reluctance. It was extremely difficult to speak with someone about. “She is with child. By muggle,” Narcissa whispered, as quietly and as softly as she could.

She thought her mother would scream, faint, call for her father, or perhaps start crying. Her mother did none of those things.

“I see. Who else knows?” her mother asked, patiently, as if Theodosia’s entire world weren’t crumbling beneath her as they spoke.

“Nysa and I. No one else. Nysa thought you could help.”

“I can. Give me two days, Narcissa,” her mother said, something hard appearing in her voice, something determined and strong.

“What will you do?” Narcissa asked, hands trembling.

“I will explain to Theodosia that she must do what all women do.”

“And? What is that?” Narcissa asked, leaning forward.

“We plot, Narcissa. We plot.” Her mother stood up and Narcissa realized that the careful, contrite, submissive might have been nothing more than a careful façade. What is weaker in physical strength is not always weaker in mind. Her mother must have noticed her surprised expression because she said, “Women hide, Narcissa. But a snake in the grass still has fangs, does it not?”

Narcissa never knew quite what her mother did, or how she made it so. Her mother never told Narcissa, perhaps out of fear of her father finding out Narcissa was in on her mother’s scheme in some way, should it come to light.

All Narcissa knew, is that three days later, Theodosia was to travel to stay in France to attend to a dying, distant relative. Theodosia was gone for nine months, and she returned to marry a Flint, telling the gossiping women that she had an excellent vacation, and looking slimmer than ever.

She knew her father was angry at Gringotts for loosing a few thousand galleons somewhere along the way, which the goblins could not account for.

She knew her mother had something to do with it and she knew no one suspected a thing. That is when Narcissa learned, when all else fails, one plots.


	35. Astoria (September 1995): Transfiguration and Tensions

September 1995

“You’ll be the sixth girl in this dorm room so Professor Snape expanded it. Usually, there are only five but there were no rooms with an extra empty bed, so…” Pansy trailed off, showing Astoria to her room. She had stood in the common room awkwardly until Pansy had taken notice and told her where she could sleep.

“Okay,” Astoria said, nervously, as she followed Pansy to her dorm. There were six four-poster beds framed by green curtains surrounding a single stove that appeared to be working quite hard to fight the chill that settled over the room. There were no windows and the room, though plenty large, felt almost suffocating. Astoria did not like anywhere where she could not see the sky.

There were a group of girls who were standing around what Astoria gathered was the sixth bed, and murmuring amongst themselves, clearly speculating who it could belong to. Pansy cleared her throat and the girls whipped around as if snapping to attention at the sound of her voice.

They all shared a collective look when they saw Astoria and looked at Pansy expectantly. “This is Astoria Greengrass. Daphne’s sister,” Pansy said, emphasizing Astoria’s last name.

“Hello,” they chorused, with one fair-haired girl shooting her a simpering smile that made Astoria uncomfortable.

Pansy gave the girls a warning look and turned to Astoria, saying, “Find me if you need me.” She turned and left. Astoria stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

The fair-haired girl stepped forward and smiled. “I’m Diane Carter.”

Astoria returned the smile, saying, “Nice to meet you.” Diane gave her another sickly, sweet smile and gestured to two girls standing behind her.

“This is Angela Dedworth,” Diane said, pointing to a girl with long, stick-straight, brittle looking, strawberry blonde hair, and small, watery blue eyes. “And this is Lucy Nettles,” Diane supplied, gesturing to a girl with dark-blonde hair, and a button-like nose. 

“Hello,” Astoria said, turning to the two other girls, who seemed to hang back from the conversation, one looking nervous, and the other looking as if she was trying not to laugh.

“What are your names?” Astoria asks, politely, wondering why Diane didn’t bother to introduce them.

A girl with thick, auburn hair, stepped forward and smiled, and Astoria noticed Diane gave her a withering look.

“I’m Charlene Bellchant, and this is Georgina Broadmoor,” Charlene said, and a tall, slim girl, with golden brown skin, waved, and grinned almost slyly.

Astoria smiled shyly and made her way to her trunk, resting at the foot of the bed she assumed was hers. “It’s nice to meet all of you,” Astoria said, carefully, ready for the onslaught of questions that would undoubtedly be thrown her way. She began to search for a nightgown, desperate for something to occupy herself with.

“So, I didn’t even know Daphne had a sister,” Diane says, craning her neck to get a good look at Astoria as if she was a zoo attraction.

“Well, I suppose she doesn’t talk about me much,” Astoria said, pulling out a nightgown and her hairbrush.

“Homeschooled?” Angela asked, eyeing the ornate silver-handled brush with wide eyes in a way that made Astoria wistful for her old plastic one.

“No. I chose to be schooled internationally,” Astoria replied, tired of answering the same questions. These girls did not seem to run in the same social circle as her parents and did not ask about Astoria’s life before she started school, which was a relief.

Astoria dressed for bed and slid beneath the covers, shivering slightly. She pulled the curtains around her bed, and immediately, the hushed whispers started. She groaned softly to herself before holding the pillow over her head, blocking out the frantic gossip. 

She awoke the next morning after Charlene nervously shook her awake, telling her breakfast was in half-an-hour and asking if she wanted to sit with her. Astoria yawned and tiredly hauled herself from the bed, putting her feet down on the cold, stone floor, accepting their offer. She dressed hurriedly, running the brush through her hair, wincing slightly as it caught on a tangle.

Charlene and Georgina had waited for her and Astoria followed them out of the dorm and into the common room, scanning the space anxiously for her sister. Daphne was standing in the corner near the entrance, checking an elegant silver watch on her wrist. When Daphne caught sight of Astoria, she grinned and waved.

“Astoria!” Astoria made her way over to her sister, surprised to find her absent from her usual crowd.

“Hey.”

“I waited for you. The others waited as well, but Draco said you were taking far too long, and he already left,” Daphne said, accusingly.

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Well, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Come on. Pansy said they would save us a seat,” Daphne said.

Astoria looked back at Charlene and Georgina. “Oh, well. I was going to sit with Charlene and Georgina. I told them I would.”

Daphne nodded, looking a little relieved. “That’s wonderful. I’m glad you’re making friends,” in a way that made Astoria feel like a child and somewhat socially inept.

Daphne walked with her and dormmates down to the Great Hall and Astoria noticed Charlene and Georgina were rather stiff and silent, leaving the sisters to make quiet casual conversation.

Daphne saw Pansy waving her over and Daphne broke away from the group after making Astoria promise to meet her for lunch.

“You were going to sit with them?” Charlene asked, looking after her sister in wonder, taking a seat farther down the table while Astoria endured a questioning look from Draco, one she chose to ignore.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. But, it doesn’t matter. I sat with them last night,” Astoria commented. “Without Daphne looking over my shoulder, I may be able to get a decent breakfast in,” joked Astoria.

“Oh. So, you’re friends with them,” Charlene said, leaning forward in interest.

“Charlene, stop acting like they are Merlin returned from the dead!” Georgina groans, grabbing a slice of toast.

“I am not! I’m just curious. That’s all,” Charlene defended. Georgina smirked, shaking her head.

“You and all of Slytherin house,” Georgina said, passing a plate of bacon to Charlene. Astoria eyed the pumpkin juice with a speculative eye but decided to pour herself some, taking a tentative sip.

Charlene narrowed her eyes at Astoria. “I didn’t think you would actually sit with us.” Astoria’s eyes widened.

“Why did you ask if you didn’t want me to sit with you?” Astoria said, tone suddenly distrustful. Georgina gave Charlene a disapproving look.

“We did! We just thought you would say no. I mean, you are a Greengrass.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?” Astoria asked Charlene.

Just then, a tall, lanky, looking boy with mussed, light brown hair arrived, looking as though he just rolled out of bed. He dropped next to Astoria, looking bleary-eyed, and reached for scrambled eggs. He seemed to notice her out of the corner of his eye, and he did a double-take.

“How’d you bag a Greengrass?” he whispered to Charlene.

“Excuse me?” Astoria asked.

He thrust his hand out, as if to shake her hand, and then dropped it, laughing to himself. “Vaisey. Lewis Vaisey.” Georgina scowled.

“I told you to stop introducing yourself that way. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! I saw it in a—” Lewis leaned in, dropping his voice extremely low, whispering “a movie.”

Charlene gasped and Georgina looked around, swiftly checking to see if anyone had heard. Astoria perked up.

“You didn’t,” Georgina said, a touch of envy in her voice.

“Did.”

“Lewis, you aren’t to go to one of those. They could make your eyes fall out of your skull,” Charlene said, warningly.

Astoria laughed. “No, they can’t. I’ve been to quite a few.”

Georgina choked on her pumpkin juice, her jaw dropping. “No. But, you can’t have.”

“That’s the benefit of living far away from your parents. You can do whatever you want,” Astoria said slyly, turning her attention to a man who seemed to regard the student body look of cold distaste as he glared down his hooked nose at them. She assumed him to be a teacher and watched as he passed out pieces of parchment to others seated at her table.

“Who is that?” Astoria asked Lewis, who was eyeing the man nervously.

“Professor Snape. Don’t make direct eye-contact.”

“Why? Daphne said he liked Slytherins,” Astoria said, eyeing the professor she had heard about with interest. 

“Yeah. Most of them. But not me,” Lewis said, wincing as the Professor got closer and closer.

“If you didn’t forget to turn in half your assignments, he might like you, Lewis,” Charlene pointed out.

“If you weren’t such a massive prat,” added Georgina. Lewis shot her a glare, opening his mouth to retort, stopping abruptly when Snape got too close for his comfort.

Professor Snape reached them and flipped carefully through the parchment. “Bellchant and Broadmoor,” he said, handing Charlene and Georgina what Astoria realized was their schedules.

“Vaisey. Do not misplace this. I will not be giving you another one,” Professor Snape ordered, thrusting the paper toward Lewis who took it gingerly as if it might explode.

“And Miss Greengrass,” he said, placing her schedule down in front of her. Astoria examined it with interest.

“What do you have for electives?” Astoria asked, turning towards the group.

“Charlene and I both have Divination. Then, Charlene has Care of Magical Creatures and I have Arithmancy.”

“I have Care of Magical Creatures and Divination,” Lewis said, peering at Astoria’s schedule. “You?”

“Divination and Ancient Runes.”

Divination was first and Astoria stood, letting Lewis, Georgina, and Charlene lead her to the Divination classroom. Astoria waved to her sister as she left, who gave her a tight-lipped smile.

One thing that was undeniably tricky about Hogwarts, were the moving staircases. They frightened Astoria to no end as she was afraid one might disappear right from under her feet, sending her tumbling to the floor below.

Lewis pointed out the North Tower and Astoria realized that it would be quite a climb to reach the classroom. After several more flights of stairs, they reached the top of the tower where a ladder could be seen leading to a trap door. Astoria watched Charlene and Georgina climb the ladder to ascend through the circular trap door. She began to climb up the ladder and she would have fallen off the ladder if Lewis hadn’t reached up to steady her.

“Merlin, Greengrass. I _divine_ that you’re going to kill yourself before you even get up the ladder!” Lewis joked and Astoria had to fight not to cringe.

When she entered the classroom, she immediately felt nauseous from the thick perfume of incense and something sickly sweet. The classroom was sweltering and stifling, giving Astoria a claustrophobic feeling.

A woman stood in the center of the room, beckoning the class in, gesturing with her hands for the group to come closer, her arms almost completely hidden under a thick glittering shawl. Astoria followed the other students and sat around a rickety, small, wooden table, in an awkward, plush armchair that seemed to pull her down into the cushions. Charlene and Georgina settled in armchairs on either side of her, leaving Lewis to sink onto a pouf. Astoria looked around, observing the red scarves draped over almost every surface of light, the crackling fire, which Astoria found was the source of the syrupy scent, and the crowded shelves full of all sorts of oddities.

“Good morning. My name is Professor Trelawney, and I’m excited to show you the most arduous and challenging of the magical disciplines, Divination.” Georgina snorted and Charlene elbowed her, though she looked like she was having trouble holding back a laugh as well. “Your success in this course will depend on whether or not you have the blessed Sight, though few of you will. I must warn you, for those who are not gifted with the Inner Eye, this class can get quite discouraging.

“Some of you may be quite gifted in firing a stunning spell, making objects levitate about the room, or transforming knickknacks to animals, but that does not translate to the noble, fine, and nuanced art of Divination.”

Astoria frowned; her hand drifted to her wand. Perhaps she should have tried to brave Arithmancy or Muggle Studies. The thought of her sister’s face if she was found in a Muggle Studies classroom was enough for Astoria to have to fight a smile.

Professor Trelawney, pivoted on her heels, and aggressively pointed at Derek Clifton, a boy Astoria vaguely recognized from breakfast that morning, and said, “Were you planning on trying out for Slytherin’s Quidditch Team?” Derek looked startled and nodded his head.

“Don’t. Unless you do not want to maintain the use of your legs,” Professor Trelawney said, in a voice dripping with a sense of prophetical pageantry.

“You. Your name?” she asked, pointing to a nervous-looking girl, who looked as though a gust of wind might blow her away.

“Alviva Volant,” the girl whispered, eyeing the professor with a skeptical look.

“A distant relative of yours will be returning.” Alviva looked slightly sick and bit her lip, glancing nervously out the window. Astoria could practically see the wheels in her head turning, running through her family tree.

Professor Trelawney whirled around, turning to twin girls who were huddled together in the back of the classroom, both sharing blank, impassive looks on their near-identical faces. “You two. Any skeletons in your closet?” The twins turned to look at each other, shrugging, each giving the professor an unimpressed look.

Professor Trelawney turned to address the class. “This term, we shall start with learning the art of reading tea leaves, before next term, when we begin Palmistry. Fire omens and the reading of crystal balls will also be covered after the New Years, but alas, I suspect that one of you shan’t make it to Christmas dinner due to an untimely end.” She gave Astoria a hard look and she had to fight not to roll her eyes. She did not doubt that Professor Trelawney was a nice woman but that did not make her class any less of a farce. She had taken Divination, shamefully, because she had been too afraid to try her luck with Arithmancy; she never had been good with numbers. Now, she was beginning to regret that choice.

Professor Trelawney looked to Lewis who was drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. “What you fear most shall soon be upon you.”

Lewis gulped and squirmed in his pouf before Georgina leaned over and whispered, “Don’t be ridiculous, Lewis. Just let her talk and get your easy marks.”

“Dear, would you fetch me the largest silver teapot, over there,” Professor Trelawney said to Charlene, pointing to the cluttered shelf. Charlene stood, and walked toward the shelf, grabbing the enormous teapot and hoisting it up to Professor Trelawney, who took it with great effort and poured tea from the kettle over the fire into the teapot.

“If everyone would get a teacup and bring it to me, I will fill it. You will drink the tea, making sure to leave the tea leaves in the bottom of your cups. Then, turn to pages five and six of _Unfogging the Future_ and use the diagrams to discern the meaning behind the form your chosen partner’s tea leaves make.”

Astoria started to get up, but Charlene leaped up, saying, “I’ll get your cup.” Astoria hovered halfway out of her chair, slightly taken aback.

“Thanks! You don’t have to—” she began.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charlene hissed, standing to grab a teacup, with Georgina and Lewis following suit. Astoria squirmed in her seat, slightly uncomfortable, and reached up hastily to take the cup from Charlene’s hands, careful not to spill.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it,” Astoria said, biting her lip. Charlene gave her a strange look as if she did not expect to be thanked. Astoria was beginning to notice that there was something rather odd going on. Charlene and Georgina treated each other very differently than they treated Astoria.

Charlene and Georgina turned to each other, leaving Astoria to partner with Lewis. She drank her tea and passed him the cup, before turning in her book to find the appropriate pages.

She concentrated hard on the wet leaves at the bottom of Lewis’s cup, peering into the dregs, trying to discern a shape from the mess. Astoria found nothing, but she turned the cup, and from the new angle, it looked suspiciously like a mountain. Or perhaps a triangle? It was more rounded at the top, so Astoria decided that it must be a mountain.

“It says here you’re going to gain a powerful friend,” Astoria said, in a joking tone.

“That’s good, that’s good. You’ve got a rather large squiggle. I think it’s a snake. Which means…” Lewis trailed off, flipping through the pages, while Astoria ignored the way her heart stopped and the phantom throbbing in her arm.

“Oh. It says a snake is a bad omen. Hah. Typical,” Lewis said, rolling his eyes. “Bet whoever wrote this was a Gryffindor.”

Professor Trelawney, as if she had been summoned by the mention of bad omen alone, snatched the cup from Lewis’s hands and gave him a praising look.

“Mr. Vaisey. I think you possess an inkling, though small, of the blessed Sight. This is a snake, a bad omen indeed. You have a secret enemy, dear. Possibly many!” Professor Trelawney seemed excited about the idea of secret enemies lying in wait, ready to ambush one of her students. Astoria blinked and shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes. Well, that can’t be good,” Astoria said, fighting the panic that was rising in her chest. Divination is rubbish, she reminded herself. Besides, what would tea leaves at the bottom of a cup really be able to divine about her? Even if it _were_ true, there were multiple possibilities of who the secret enemy could be. It had nothing to do with her dreams. It could be the Circus Arcanum or some other group. It could be any number of people and it didn’t change anything about her situation. She didn’t believe in things of that nature anyway.

Astoria hurriedly left Divination at the end of the period, desperately trying to avoid the stares from her classmates, as well as the concerned look Charlene was throwing her way. Georgina and Lewis looked entirely unbothered. Charlene and Lewis left for Care of Magical Creatures, and Astoria anxiously wished them luck, hoping that this Grubbly-Plank woman was a far safer teacher than Hagrid. Georgina showed her the way to Ancient Runes, before heading to her Arithmancy class.

Astoria filed in and saw Romilda sitting in the back corner, twirling a strand of her dark, curly hair around her finger. Astoria sank beside her and a few students in the classroom gave her startled looks when she did so. Romilda turned to her and gave her a hesitant smile.

“Hey. How’s your first day been?” Romilda asked cautiously. Astoria shrugged and swept her thick hair behind her shoulders. “I think it’s gone fairly well. I just left Divination, and apparently, I have a secret enemy, possibly many,” Astoria joked. Romilda giggled, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah. Collin told me what an awful class Divination is. I take Muggle Studies—” Romilda broke off, and gave Astoria a challenging look, as though expecting her to deride her choice of elective. Astoria just smiled.

“Muggle Studies does sound interesting,” Astoria offered sincerely, subconsciously sweeping her hair to cover the Slytherin crest on her robes, which so many were eyeing. Romilda looked surprised at her answer, but before she could respond, an attractive woman with mahogany-colored hair and robes of a deep crimson strode in, giving them all a small smile.

“Hello. I’m Professor Babbling, and I’ll be your Ancient Runes professor. I’m glad to see all of you here. Many tend to shy away from Runology’s difficulty, but I assure you, though challenging, this class will be rewarding. The symbols and shapes you learn here, the language, will unlock new types of spells, magic, and knowledge that you would otherwise not have had access to you. If you do well, you may choose to take on Ancient Studies in your N.E.W.T years, where you can put the runes you learn to the test, and practice the magic of ancient wizarding cultures, like the Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Mayans.”

Professor Babbling began writing symbols and runes on the board and Astoria started copying down a basic alphabet.

“Now, it is important to remember,” Professor Babbling continued. “That ancient runes changed and shifted over time, and this alphabet, while largely standard, will not include some runes. The symbol for A, may also work as the symbol for U and so on. Some symbols and runes are not meant to be letters at all and take on a more hieroglyphic nature.”

Professor Babbling spoke fast and Astoria copied down notes at a furious pace; by the time the class was over, her hand ached with exhaustion. She tossed a goodbye to Romilda over her shoulder and began to head back toward the Great Hall for lunch.

She walked in and spotted her sister talking animatedly with Pansy, and she slid into a space beside Daphne.

“Hello,” she greeted, grabbing a helping of shepherd's pie, eyeing it suspiciously.

“How were your classes? Are you adjusting and adapting well?” Daphne asked, and Astoria nodded.

“Yes. I am. I’ve only had Divination and Ancient Runes. I can’t say I can speak with much fondness on Divination, but I did enjoy Ancient Runes,” Astoria said, surprising herself on how different she worded her sentences around Daphne and her friends.

Draco sneered. “My father said Divination should not even be taught at Hogwarts. It is an absolute waste of money.” Astoria thought that purchasing a flock of albino peacocks to strut around one’s gardens was also a waste of money, but she decided that was a comment best kept to herself.

Astoria glanced at Gregory, who was eating his shepherd's pie at an alarming speed, and she noticed his robes were burnt.

“Gregory, why are your robes singed?” she asked, taking a sip of water. Draco looked at his friend, rolling his eyes.

“Goyle set his robes on fire trying to brew a Draught of Peace.”

Pansy smirked. “Better than Potter did. He did not even read the directions for the potion. He began to dump the ingredients in without a care! Typical,” Pansy said, shaking her head. Astoria began to tune out the conversation and looked toward Professor Snape nervously. She thought she might be good in Potions if she hadn’t had such a horrible teacher her first year. Perhaps Professor Snape would be understanding.

“I’m awful at Potions,” Astoria mumbled to herself absentmindedly, thinking of the way she would surely embarrass herself. Soon, they’d be making fun of her, and not Potter.

“Are you?” Draco asked, apparently being the only one who had heard her, and Astoria winced, not realizing anyone had been paying her any attention.

“Yes.”

“Even though you are gifted?” he asked, clearly reveling in her misfortune. Astoria glared at him and didn’t respond. “I’m extremely good,” Draco added, seemingly enjoying surpassing her in something. Astoria thought this was ridiculous, as Draco surpassed her in most things that seemed to count in this new world. 

Astoria made a face at him and said, “Good for you. Your prize will be delivered at a later date,” Astoria huffed, standing up. Daphne looked at her, clearly surprised at her quick exit.

“And just where are you going?” Daphne asked.

“Transfiguration. It’ll take me ages to find the classroom,” Astoria said, trying to keep her voice even, as she left the group sitting there.

Georgina and Charlene must have noticed her leaving, because they caught her on her way out, asking if she wanted to walk to Transfiguration with them. Astoria gratefully accepted. Lewis caught up with them when they were nearly there.

When they reached the Transfiguration classroom, they sat near the back of the class and Astoria watched Professor McGonagall stride into the classroom, her emerald green robes swishing about her feet.

“Good afternoon. Please take out your wands, a quill, and a roll of parchment,” the professor said briskly, turning to face them. The reaction was almost immediate, as students started reaching into their bags, pulling out wands, and rifling through supplies to find clean parchment and quills. Astoria nearly dropped her inkpot and cursed under her breath, wincing as Professor McGonagall gave her a severe look.

Professor McGonagall began to lecture on Animagi, and Astoria sunk low in her seat, twirling a quill between her fingers, blocking out the words, and focusing intently on her wand. Professor McGonagall transformed into a cat as part of her lesson, a demonstration, and Astoria fought the urge to scoff as the other students looked on in surprise and shock, applauding loudly. It must be nice when it’s a party trick and not the very cause of your death.

Astoria stood quickly when the lesson was over, hastily putting her things away, glad to escape the classroom. She noticed that when she stood, Lewis, Georgina, and Charlene stood hurriedly, following her out almost nervously. She sighed. It was becoming exhausting to have every move she made watched.

Astoria glanced at her schedule, noticing that Defense Against the Dark Arts was next, which she hoped would be similar to courses she had in the past. She turned to the group following her.

“Why are you following me? I don’t know the way,” she laughed, stepping aside, letting Georgina lead them to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. Professor Umbridge, wearing the same pink cardigan and headband from last night, gave them a grotesquely wide, falsely sweet smile as they entered. Astoria settled at a table and bristled when Umbridge gave her a particularly wide, secret smile as if they were somehow friends.

“Good afternoon!” Professor Umbridge sang, in a high, mincing voice. There were a few weak, obliging smiles, and softly murmured hellos, but clearly, it was not up to her standards, because she shook her head back and forth rapidly, clicking her tongue theatrically. “That won’t do at all. No, no. When someone, especially a distinguished educator such as myself, greets you, it is proper to say hello back! That has been such an issue today!”

The class echoed her greeting, in a dull, and some, sarcastic, tone. Professor Umbridge seemed not to notice and spun towards the blackboard. She began writing on the board, the chalk making an unpleasant noise against the board, that in Astoria’s opinion, couldn’t rival Umbridge’s voice in grating quality. 

“It is my understanding, that many of you have not received quality and consistent education in this subject over the past few years. Luckily, with the intervention of the Ministry, these issues will be corrected by yours truly,” she said, giggling to herself. Georgina raised an eyebrow and Charlene began to nervously tap her fingernails against the table. Astoria twirled her wand in between her fingers, feeling it grow hot with the anticipation of its use. She hadn’t used it for any sort of proper magic in a long time, and she could tell her wand was getting restless. A low whisper started in her ear and she strained to hear the words.

Professor Umbridge turned around and her eyes widened when she saw Astoria’s wand. “Oh no, dear. You won’t be needing that. In fact, why don’t you all just stow your wands in your bags and get out your books, and something to take notes with,” she ordered, and Astoria heard what she thought was a hiss of anger from her wand, and it seemed to vibrate slightly in her hand. Astoria stuffed it in her bag, giving it a warning look, though feeling rather stupid. It wasn’t as if the wand could see her.

She took out a quill and a piece of parchment.

“Please copy down these three course aims. Now, I want to discuss course aim number one—” Astoria copied them down, and Georgina leaned over, whispering in a quiet voice.

“I guess we aren’t doing magic this year.” Astoria turned to Georgina, who had confirmed with words what Astoria had feared.

“How? You can’t teach a class like this without using magic,” Astoria whispered back. Georgina shook her head.

“I mean, considering our last teacher used unforgivable curses on students and turned out to be a psychotic madman, I can’t say I blame the Ministry for getting involved. But, to take out the use of magic? That’s too far,” Charlene added.

Astoria began to feel something like panic rise within her. She couldn’t perform defensive magic? “So what? We just flounder in ignorance?” Astoria said, and she heard a thin sort of cough, and she flushed, realizing she had caught Umbridge’s attention.

“Yes? Miss…”

“Greengrass,” Astoria said, feeling for the first time an odd sort of pleasure at using her name, as the women gave her an adulating smile.

“Oh, I see. I thought I recognized you. Well, I have no doubt that your conversation was most important, but I’m afraid I must ask you to keep your voice down,” Umbridge supplied, giving Astoria an apologetic smile. Astoria’s mouth dropped open in surprise, shocked at the weak, indulgent reprimand

“Uh, yeah. No. I’m sorry,” Astoria said, and Lewis shook his head, staring at her in wonder.

“We are reading chapter one of our books, if you wouldn’t mind,” Umbridge said, as Astoria quickly took out her book, turning to chapter one, and began to read.

The words on the page had the unique quality of saying a lot, without really saying anything at all. After a while, Astoria only pretended to read. By the time the class was nearing its end, Astoria was fighting to stay awake. Her body started to ache as Professor Umbridge dismissed them. She should probably change at some point tonight, but she really would rather hold out a little longer. She was sure she had changed a short while ago. Astoria stood and swayed on the spot, her vision going dark for a second. Well, she thought, perhaps she couldn’t hold out much longer.

Astoria dragged her feet to Potions, letting Lewis and the girls lead her to the dungeons. Professor Snape was standing in the classroom when they entered and Astoria saw Romilda sitting with a girl with mousy brown hair, who glared at Astoria when Romilda waved at her. Astoria waved back, ignoring Charlene and Georgina’s shared look. She sat down and looked at the board, relieved to find that they were only reviewing the Wiggenwald Potion today, something she had brewed successfully before. She thought of Gregory’s tattered robes and laughed to herself. Someone should have offered to fix them.

“I will not waste time with frivolous introductions and outlining expectations. You have had this class before, and you know what is demanded of you. You all will be brewing the Wiggenwald potion. It is a review and I expect competency, if not perfection, from each and every one of you,” Professor Snape intoned, giving Lewis a hard look, and a much harder look at the Gryffindor students.

“The directions are on the board. If you all can read, as that seems to be an issue for some students,” he said, in no doubt a reference to Potter’s earlier mistake. His mishap seemed to have traveled to the other Slytherin students in her year, because they all looked at each other and smirked.

“Then collect the necessary ingredients and begin.” Astoria got the necessary ingredients herself, refusing to let her new friends get them for her. She was beginning to wonder if they actually liked her, or if they just thought she could get them in with her sister.

She stood over her cauldron and carefully read the first line. She began to place drops of salamander blood into her cauldron, waiting until her potions turned a light crimson. She glanced at Georgina’s and was relieved to find a similar shade of red. She stirred clockwise, and when her potions turned the correct color of orange, she smiled.

“So, you’re friends with Romilda Vane?” asked Georgina, who was adding more salamander blood, and watching her potion turn a nice shade of marigold yellow.

“Yes. She’s nice. I met her on the train,” Astoria said, firmly, worried that Georgina would take issue with it.

“That’s interesting,” Charlene murmured, stirring her potion, give it a worried look. “Do you think it’s supposed to be this green?” Astoria glanced down at her potion, which was a paler shade.

“I don’t know. I’m sure it doesn’t matter too much, right? As long as it’s green.” Lewis’s potion was still red and he eyed it worriedly.

“We all heard what the Sorting Hat said. The Houses are supposed to get along. Maybe it’s a good thing Astoria is branching out a little,” Lewis offered.

Charlene scoffed. “Yeah, okay. We shall see how seriously the Gryffindor’s take that. Watch out, Astoria. Romilda may be treating you nice to your face, but look at her over there with Simmons.” Charlene pointed to the girl who kept giving her cross looks and found that Romilda and she were whispering and occasionally glancing Astoria’s way. “I bet they are talking about you right now. And I don’t think they are saying anything good.”

Georgina nodded. “People may act like we are the ones that drive a wedge between the other Houses, but trust me. It’s not just us. The Gryffindors are just as nasty.”

Lewis sighed. “I don’t know. Malfoy can be—” Charlene turned to him, looking scandalized.

“Watch your mouth!” Charlene hissed, giving a worried look toward Astoria.

“A bit of an arse?” Astoria finished, laughing a little as she watched her potion turn a turquoise color. Charlene looked a little surprised, but Lewis and Georgina shared a grin.

“Yeah. I’m just saying. He instigates a lot of the altercations. I mean, the way the Gryffindors retaliate is often just as bad, but he _does_ start it. Most of the time, anyway,” Lewis continued, glancing nervously at Astoria’s potion, as she turned up the heat until it was an indigo color. His was still a stubborn yellowish red.

Charlene shook her head, her auburn hair looking redder from the glint off Lewis’s potion. “Personally, I think the Sorting Hat is exaggerating. Malfoy may start it most of the time, but it’s never anything more than petty insults. Is it really that big of a deal? Inter-house unity is impossible. Trust me.” 

Astoria added more salamander blood, and her potion turned to pink and then red, as she added five lionfish spines. “Sounds like he and Potter have a routine going,” Astoria comments, her hair getting slightly frizzy from the steam wafting off the top of her potion.

Charlene gave a tired sigh. “Yes. They certainly do.”

“Why does Draco bother?” Astoria asked, adding more lionfish spines and watching her potion turn yellow.

Georgina shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re the one who is friends with him.” Astoria sighed. Oh right. Friends.

“I don’t know. I like him when he just talks about normal things, like Quidditch, places he’s traveled, or things he’s interested in. And there are times when he’s been nice to me. But, there are times when—” Astoria broke off, deciding not to finish. She added flobberworm mucus with a wrinkled nose until her potion turned purple. “I can’t figure out what his deal is. It’s not just him, either. It’s all of them. My sister, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini. They all have a mean streak. But, I don’t think they are quite as bad as they want to make themselves out to be,” Astoria said, stirring her potion and watching it turn another crimson shade. Charlene was listening to Astoria’s words with interest, leaning forward.

Professor Snape swept by, eyeing her cauldron, and saying nothing, which Astoria hoped meant he wasn’t displeased with her potion.

Georgina added more flobberworm mucus and the color turned bright orange. Charlene glanced over and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. It looks like the essence of Weasley. Mine isn’t that orange.”

Georgina grabbed her textbook, and examined it closely, before looking at the board. “No, it says it’s supposed to be orange.”

“That orange?”

“It looks like Astoria’s,” Lewis said, examining Georgina’s potion.

“Full disclosure, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I’m not great at potions,” Astoria admitted, eyeing her potion as it turned from orange to yellow as she stirred.

“Check the Carrows. See what theirs looks like,” Lewis suggested. Charlene craned her neck, looking toward the twins that seemed to pop up in quite a few of Astoria’s classes.

“It’s a light orange like mine. Now it’s turning yellow, but it’s still lighter than what Astoria and Georgina’s looks like.”

Georgina groaned and grabbed the vial of honey water. “Well, it says to add Honey water now. Maybe that will fix it,” she said, hopefully, adding the drops until her potion returned to the turquoise shade from earlier.

“There. That looks just like Flora’s,” Lewis said, nodding to Georgina’s cauldron and tossing a morose look at his own. “Mine is still red,” he said, glumly. Astoria took the berry juice and added it to the mix before passing it back to Charlene, and glancing at her own cauldron anxiously, praying it would at least turn into a passable shade of green.

“You said you went to school abroad, Astoria?” asked Charlene as she watched her potion simmer. Astoria felt her stomach drop and twist, which was becoming a familiar feeling anytime someone brought up her past.

“Yes, but the Potions department was dreadful. One of my old Potion’s professors, Professor Mildew, sort of lost his mind and started giving veritaserum to students. He got fired after that and a suspicious bought of poisoning that erupted in the Botany department,” Astoria explained. “I had a new professor last year and she was really great, but she had to review a lot of material. I’m sure I’m behind,” Astoria said, hoping to distract them from more questions about her past with an odd story.

Astoria’s potion had turned a nice shade of green and she sighed in relief when Professor Snape investigated her cauldron and muttered, “Passable.”

Professor Snape said nothing to Lewis, but he did give him a cutting look.

“Do you think he will fail you?” Astoria asked, noticing Lewis’s despondent expression.

Lewis shook his head. “No. He’ll pass me no matter what because I’m in Slytherin. But, just barely. I’ll still have a bad average.”

Astoria gave him a sympathetic look, as she poured a sample of her potion into a vial to take to Professor Snape’s desk. She eyed the professor as he sneered at a Gryffindor student and shook his head at several others. Astoria grabbed her bag, packing her books away before she pushed herself from her seat and strode out the door. She didn’t much feel like going to dinner as she wasn’t at all hungry. Besides, if everyone was at dinner, it would be a great time to transform. She could head up to the Owlery to do it, and everyone would be none the wiser.

“Astoria, the great hall is that way.” Georgina pointed out, as she began to head in the opposite direction.

“Oh. I’m not hungry. I’m going to write a letter. I’ll see you all back in the common room,” Astoria said, cutting through a crowd of students who were all headed in the direction opposite her. Georgina gave her a worried glance but turned to follow Charlene and Lewis.

Astoria passed her sister, who was talking in hushed whispers with Pansy and Draco. She hoped they wouldn’t see her, but none such luck.

“Astoria! Are you not coming to dinner?” Daphne called, stopping Astoria in her tracks. Astoria turned to face her sister.

“I am not hungry. I thought I might—” She couldn’t exactly tell them she was going to write a letter, could she? Who would she be writing to? She thought of Peter and Rachelle, but she pushed the thought of them away. She didn’t like to think of them much.

Draco raised a single eyebrow, as he was fond of doing, and smirked. “Going to what?” he asked. Astoria gave her sister a meaningful look and Daphne’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Nothing, Draco. Come on,” Daphne said, pulling on his robes. Draco didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, and Astoria knew he was used to receiving a prompt and direct answer for any question he asked.

Astoria sighed. “I’m feeling out of sorts, a little light of head. I may retire to my room for the time being,” Astoria said, evenly. Draco eyed her suspiciously, but let Daphne lead him away, with Pansy following. Astoria took a deep breath and began to head up towards the Owlery. She reached the tall tower, and soon she took off her outer robes, and put them in her bag, before arching her back and folding in on herself, taking flight.

* * *

The next day, Astoria was in the library, trying to see if Hogwarts had any new information about the Elder Wand. She had a gut feeling that she was close, somehow. That somewhere in this castle, she would find the answers she had been searching for. She had traced its history fairly far, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she tracked it down.

She was back in the recesses of the library hunting for a book when she heard a delicate sniffle. Someone was crying.

Astoria peeked behind the bookshelf and found a girl hunched over, her back pressed against a bookshelf, her long dirty-blonde hair forming curtains around her face.

“Are you alright?” Astoria asked, quietly. The girl looked up at her with wide blue eyes, filled with tears.

“Oh yes. I’m quite alright,” the girl said, her voice sounding slightly musical.

“You don’t look it,” Astoria pointed out, sitting next to the girl.

“I’m sure you heard about what happened with Harry Potter and Umbridge in Defense Against the Dark Arts yesterday,” the girl said. Astoria nodded. Draco had been noticeably quiet about the incident, which surprised Astoria. “Well, I went to tell him that I believed him, and he seemed almost embarrassed I was even talking to him. And then Hermione Granger told me that the Crumpled Horned Snorkacks weren’t real, and everyone laughed at me. Not to mention, Ernie Macmillan told Harry not to worry. Said it wasn’t only weirdos who support him,” the girl continued, now nearly sobbing. Astoria frowned, having never heard of a Crumpled Horned Snorkack.

“Well, Harry Potter doesn’t exactly have a lot of people on his side right now. It isn’t smart to be turning away people who believe him,” Astoria said, shaking her head.

“Harry Potter is brilliant,” Luna defended. Astoria didn’t think someone who stood by while everyone laughed at someone just for saying they believed him, was quite brilliant. But she wasn’t there. Perhaps he had been having a bad day.

“I’m sure he is,” Astoria said, instead. The girl smiled at her. “What’s your name?’

“Luna Lovegood.”

Astoria smiled and said. “I’m Astoria.” She didn’t give her last name. People either treated her as if they didn’t trust her, hated her, or like they were her personal assistants. She was starting to notice that Charlene agreed with everything she said, and while Lewis would occasionally disagree with her, Georgina would stay silent, despite Astoria’s multiple attempts to assure them they didn’t have to treat her as if they were walking on eggshells. They left when she did, stopped eating when she was done with her meal, and fetched things for her, even when Astoria swore she could get it herself. Charlene practically waited on her. It was starting to become a hassle.

“Crumpled Snorkacks are real,” the girl insisted, suddenly, bringing Astoria away from her thoughts.

“I believe you,” Astoria offered. “Look, I believe in things that other people say are just stories too. So, you aren’t the only one.” Astoria leaned her head back against the bookshelf and took a deep breath.

“Like what?” asked the girl, brushing her long hair back from her face.

“The Elder Wand,” Astoria whispered, quietly. “I’m trying to find it,” she confessed. “But don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. I think it’s real.”

Astoria grinned. “I hope so.” Astoria sat by the girl until all the tears had stopped, and then, when all was said and done, Astoria helped her to her feet.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Luna said, brightly. “I don’t have very many friends,” she continued, in a pleasant, sing-song voice, as though she was entirely unbothered by this fact.

“I’m your friend,” assured Astoria, desperate for someone who wouldn’t treat her with the hesitant caution that Collin and Romilda afforded her, or the devoted follower act of Charlene, or Lewis and Georgina acting as if they were just a little bit afraid of her.

Astoria glanced at her watch and cursed, biting her lip nervously. “I do have to go, though. I promised my sister I’d meet with her in the common room and she will get upset if I’m late. Will you be alright?”

“Oh, yes. I will be,” Luna said, having already moved on.

Astoria raced out of the library and toward the dungeons, anxiously checking her watch again. She turned the corner and ran straight into a hulking figure, sending her sprawling backward. Astoria hastily leaped to her feet, flushing bright red, and grinned apologetically when she saw it was Vincent and Gregory. Or was it Gregory and Vincent?

“Sorry, Gre—” Astoria stopped. No, was it Vincent? Who had she run into? She could never tell the difference.

“You ran into Crabbe,” a voice drawled. It seemed Vincent and Gregory had been hiding a far more imposing threat, Draco.

“Oh, yes! Sorry, Vincent. Listen, I am supposed to meet Daphne so—”

“Yes, you were. An hour and a half ago. Your sister is convinced you have dropped dead.” Astoria cursed, and Draco widened his eyes. “Language, Little Greengrass.” Astoria was about to tell him that she had heard him curse on several occasions, but he cut her off again. “Come on. We’ve been sent to collect you,” he said, turning. Collect her?

“You’re a prat,” Astoria hissed, elbowing past him.

“And you’re a clumsy fright,” Draco shot back. “Not to mention, incredibly rude. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

“And, why is that?”

“I don’t know. _I_ certainly didn’t feel the need to. I find you to be an annoying nuisance,” he said. “I wonder that you’ve been allowed to stay here this long, with all the messes you make.” Astoria froze, stopping in her tracks, tears threatening to make themselves present.

Draco noticed she was no longer following him and turned to look at her, sneering at her hurt expression. “Let’s go. Don’t be so sensitive. It will not serve you well.” Astoria barreled past him, attempting to outrun him though she was unable to escape his long strides, and he grabbed the sleeve of her robes, stopping her.

“What?”

“I would not wait for you if I did not want to,” Draco said, evenly. “Believe me.” Astoria frowned, unimpressed with the pitiful attempt at apology; she had known Draco long enough at this point to understand that was as good of a _mea culpa_ as she was going to receive.

“We learned something interesting in Care of Magical Creatures. I thought you would find it interesting,” Draco said, in what Astoria suspected an attempt to move past the slight disagreement.

“Hm?” Astoria asked, turning to look at him, feeling the last vestiges of her anger already slipping away.

“Do you know about bowtruckles?”

“No,” Astoria said, even though she did. She was impressed he paid attention enough to know she would find that sort of thing interesting.

“They are little twig-like creatures. I can show you my drawing. But what I thought you would like, is that they live in trees that are good for wand-making. So, if you find a tree that has a lot of bowtruckles in it, you know it will make powerful wands.”

Astoria hid a smile, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it. “Really? That’s fascinating,” Astoria said, excitedly, though she already knew everything he told her.

“If you say so,” Draco said. Astoria shook her head, trying to keep from laughing at him. Draco Malfoy struck her as the person who would be nice to you as long as you assured him you were still scared of him.

Astoria ducked inside the common room, heading toward Daphne, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry,” she whispered. Daphne shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Astoria sat beside her sister on a couch that was thankfully near the fire. The Slytherin common room was always cold no matter how many fires one lit, no matter how thick of stockings one wore, and no matter how many blankets one could pile on themselves.

Astoria noticed that the couches as armchairs were arranged to form a circle, where Pansy, Daphne, Theo, Blaise, and Vincent and Gregory all sat, leaving the chair in the center empty.

Draco sat and Astoria rolled her eyes as everyone turned to him. “What have you got?” he asked in a businesslike tone.

“For what?” Astoria asked.

“Scheming. We are plotting against the Gryffindors. So, start thinking of ideas,” Pansy told her. Astoria was a little taken aback at this, as she observed what appeared to be a meeting to construct dastardly plots; a meeting she was now apparently apart of.

“Let’s punch them,” Gregory supplied as if he had just revealed a master plan. Astoria realized that no one else was sharing quite the same alarmed look as she did.

“We can keep that in mind,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I want 2121sabotage, slander. Humiliation. Not petty remarks in the hallways. We can do better,” Draco said, leaning forward, arms rested on his knees.

Astoria wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this.

“Let’s slip something into Potter’s potion,” suggested Blaise.

“Potter mucks up his potion enough on his own for that to be much help,” Draco said, dismissively.

“Let’s _slip Potter a potion_ ,” said Theodore.

Astoria gasped. “That is horrible! What sort of potion?”

“A poison,” Theodore said, hopefully.

“No!” Astoria said. “That’s illegal. You would get thrown in prison,” Astoria said, eyes wide.

“My father funds Azkaban. I’m not going there,” Theo scoffed.

“That is beside the point. A harmless prank is fine, but you cannot do anything that would result in serious harm,” Astoria argued, incredulously.

“Little Greengrass, no need to get upset,” Draco cooed, falsely. “If you’re too immature to handle it—”

“Draco. I’m hoping that you aren’t going along with a plan to poison someone,” Astoria shot, cutting him off.

“No one is poisoning anyone,” Draco said, calmly, placatingly.

“Well, I’m glad we’ve crossed murder off the list,” Astoria hissed.

“It was never on the list,” Draco said, vehemently.

Theodore raised an eyebrow. “Would you object to murder? If _someone_ wanted to?” There was a shift in the room as Theo looked at Draco with an almost mocking look. “Not any of us. But if _someone_ , somewhere out there wanted to?” Somehow, Astoria felt it was a battle of wills, a test of some sorts. Astoria wondered what on earth they were discussing. She could not imagine they were talking of Potter and someone wanting to kill him as if someone should agree.

Draco froze and Astoria thought she saw panic flicker behind his eyes.

“Potter?” she asked, startled.

Theodore shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, no. Not him. Just in general. Doing what has to be done. That sort of thing.”

“My father—” Draco began, when Theodore turned to him.

“I’m not asking what your father ascribes to, Draco. I’m asking you. What do _you_ think?” Theo looked smug, and Astoria looked closer, peering across the circle to find that Theodore was tensed up, clearly itching for a fight.

“No one is killing anyone, Nott. Why would _someone_ be interested in a little snot?” Draco asked, sneering. Pansy looked at him with an expression of pity. Astoria got the impression that somehow, Draco and Theodore were not on the same page. About what, she didn’t know.

Theodore sneered. “Oh? My father told me that your father talks about you. Do you know what he says?”

Draco stood, eyes blazing with unadulterated fury. “I do not think you are one to be talking of fathers, Nott.”

“Lucius says you’re _weak_. He says you are not able to _handle_ things. I’m starting to think he was right,” Theodore jeered, rising to his feet.

Draco’s wand was out faster than Theodore could reach for his own. “ _Langlock,_ ” Draco said, rigidly. Theodore looked furious, his wand also drawn, and the two of them stared each other down, leaving Theodore to discreetly try to wrench his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Daphne stood, ever the diffuser, and said, “Please, boys. This talk is hardly appropriate. The Ministry says that _someone_ isn’t back. So, let it go.” She stood in between them, lightly pushing against them. Draco appeared entirely unmoved by Daphne, but Theodore backed down almost immediately, sitting when Daphne pushed against his chest. “The counter jinx, Draco,” Daphne said, evenly. Draco muttered the words under his breath and Theodore’s tongue came unstuck. He made use of his returned speech to mutter some rather nasty curses that almost had Draco starting forward again. “Enough!” Daphne said, raising her voice, finally. Theodore’s eyes flickered toward Daphne and he seemed to deflate at her words. Pansy tugged Draco down, whispering something in his ear.

After a few moments, Draco looked entirely unbothered by the interaction, the indifferent mask of sneering returned, his only tell being a single pointer finger that tapped rapidly on the arm of the chair.

The other Slytherins had viewed the interaction with avid interest, watching the exchange and whispering quietly amongst themselves. Astoria thought they looked enthralled by the brief interaction between Theodore and Draco, regarding her sister and her friends with the same curious admiration that looked reminiscent of the way plebians might esteem patricians.

Astoria knew there must be something she was missing. She was of the understanding that they _all_ didn’t believe Harry Potter. So, why, did it feel like they did?

“I thought Potter was talking nonsense,” Astoria said, carefully, shifting under everyone’s gazes.

Draco looked at her for a long moment. “He is. Nott has temporarily forgotten himself,” Draco assured, giving Theodore a menacing look. Theodore gave a begrudgingly apologetic look.

“Now. I want serious ideas only. No jokes about schemes that are sure to get us expelled,” Draco said, swiftly changing the subject, after briefly meeting Pansy’s eye.

Blaise sat in his chair seemingly uninterested in the conversation, while Pansy bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth absentmindedly as she thought.

“We’ve tried everything, Draco. I’m starting to think we should just give up,” Daphne said, throwing her head back against the couch, and throwing Astoria a teasing smile. “Astoria said she thought Potter wasn’t so bad,” she sang. Everyone turned a cold glare on Astoria who shrank back into the couch.

“I didn’t say any such thing! Daphne is teasing,” Astoria defended.

“Do you have any suggestions,” Theodore asked, almost teasingly.

Astoria shifted uncomfortably. “No. I don’t think we should do anything,” Astoria said. “I mean, it’s one thing to get back at someone who has wronged you, but it sort of seems like Potter hasn’t _done_ anything to all of you,” Astoria said, placatingly.

Draco scoffed. “That is where you are wrong. Strike first, Little Greengrass. Always.”

Astoria rolled her eyes and distracted herself from the conversation by flicking through her History of Magic textbook, trying hard to tune out the conversation around her, not listening to the various plots and schemes that were cooked up, none of them nice. Astoria did not get up and leave, she did not speak out again. She did not know what that said about her.


	36. Bellatrix (1969): Wizards and Witches

Bellatrix hated Sirius Black.

She was sitting in the drawing-room, having tea with her Aunt Walburga, one of the few aspects of her life that she actually enjoyed now that she graduated Hogwarts. Aunt Walburga was not like her mother, who knew Bellatrix was upset and desperately tried to make her feel better by telling her how nervous (she) had been to get married. Bellatrix wasn’t some weak girl, nervous about a silly thing like, what if he doesn’t like me, what if I do not get along with his mother, and all the other stupid and inconsequential things her mother might have worried about.

Bellatrix was mourning the end of her life, and the only one who seemed to understand that was her Aunt.

Unfortunately, that did mean occasional encounters with her cousin Sirius, whom she hated. He made her mind cloud with anger, the kind she nearly couldn’t control, and sometimes, she was worried she really would lash out at him. Aunt Walburga seemed to feel the same way, but she had no problem lashing out at her son, and sending him from the room, banishing him to some secluded corner of the house where he could, “run himself into the ground as he pleased, but at least it won’t disturb us,” her Aunt would say, cheerfully.

Her Aunt poured her a cup of tea, and Bellatrix dipped her finger in the scalding liquid, knowing her finger would blister. If her aunt noticed, she did not comment.

“Bellatrix, what have you been up to recently?” she asked, as she heard Sirius give a great yell from upstairs, no doubt furious Kreacher was to keep him locked in his room. Aunt Walburga heard the scream, and grabbed a silver bottle of hard liquor, pouring a healthy amount into her tea. “Gray hair, he is giving me, Bellatrix. I used to be beautiful, you know. That is what children do, of course. They are a vacuum for beauty and health; they simply suck all of the life from you.”

Bellatrix took a sip of tea, feeling the scalding liquid burn the whole way down, and she imagined her throat turning an angry red. “I’ve been studying dark magic. I’ve gotten quite proficient. I only hope the Ministry doesn’t come for me,” Bellatrix said, frowning at her finger, an angry red patch already appearing and throbbing. She pressed down on the finger, rolling the new blister against her skin.

“That’s good. I practice a wealth of it myself, you know. That is one thing you will always have, Bellatrix. Your magic. No one can take that from you, my dear.” Bellatrix gave her aunt something she rarely bestowed on anyone, a smile.

“You should travel. You have plenty of time left. Bellatrix, the things you could see! You should go to Greece or perhaps Rome. Egypt. Study the Greats. Hecate, Bellatrix. That is who you remind me of.”

Bellatrix’s smile deepened and she tilted her head in interest. Father would never allow it. Never. He ordered her around far too much, enjoyed having her at his beck and call. “I might. That would be nice. It would save me from more of those dreadful balls and parties. I did not realize how much I was missing while at school.”

Bellatrix was dragged to ball after ball. The elite of wizarding society rarely worked, hiring other people to run their various businesses, leaving them with, in Bellatrix’s opinion, far too much time on their hands. So, with nothing to fill their evenings, they chose to spend gratuitous amounts of money on frivolous gatherings.

Aunt Walburga nodded, downing her drink quickly, and this time, pouring liquor in her cup, forgoing the tea altogether. Bellatrix noticed Regulus, who sat in the corner, toss his mother a worried look before burying his nose once more in his book. “Believe me. I find those assemblies silly beyond belief. It’s hard enough having to bring Sirius and keep him from trouble, but I can’t stand to consort with half The Families these days. I expect the Longbottom’s to be going downhill soon enough. Did you hear Augusta named her child Frank? Frank?” Walburga gagged, throwing her hand to her heart, letting out a disgusted wail. Bellatrix frowned. Frank would be near Sirius’s age and she could not imagine why her aunt was talking of this as if it were new information. “Have they no respect? No propriety? It’s a muggle name! I cannot imagine parents who insist on giving their children dirty, low names. Children grow to fit their names.”

Bellatrix sighed and nodded. “I agree. They really should be taken out of The Sacred Twenty-Eight. Really, removing Families like The Longbottoms and the Weasleys would make room for far more respectable families like the Warringtons, the Puceys, or perhaps the Zabinis.”

Aunt Walburga stood, almost suddenly, before getting up and turning, wringing her hands excitedly. “Macnair stopped by the other day,” she whispered almost conspiratorially. She threw a look toward Regulus and frowned. “Regulus, would you check on your brother? Don’t let him out, just call through the door. He’s gone awfully quiet, which means he is definitely up to some sort of mischief,” Walburga said, abruptly. Regulus nodded and left the room, slyly taking the bottle of liquor with him when his mother wasn’t looking; he was likely trying to hide it from her. Bellatrix smirked.

“Sorry. I didn’t want him to hear this.” Aunt Walburga frowned at the table when she noticed her alcohol had disappeared, but she merely reached into the cabinet, fetching more spirits.

“Macnair is recruiting. For what, I do not know, as you know how the men are, always disappearing into their studies, not letting us hear a word. But, I think it has something to do with that Riddle fellow.” Aunt Walburga gave Bellatrix a wide smile.

“I did hear this though. Orion doesn’t like the fact he wants to recruit women.” Bellatrix froze when she heard her aunt’s statement.

“Pardon?”

“From what I gather, this Riddle fellow wants to overthrow the current government and return wizarding society, not to its former glory, as the Malfoy’s always talk about,” Walburga started, snorting in derision. “But, to begin a new age. Wizards will not have to hide anymore, cowering from muggles.” Bellatrix leaned forward with interest. “I don’t know the specifics of how he plans to accomplish such a feat. But, I do know he wants whoever he can get. Wizards _and_ Witches.”

This was nothing novel, of course, for the rest of Wizarding society. Witches had long been in powerful positions of government, had successful careers in education, the ministry, or their own business affairs. But, this had become increasingly uncommon within The Families. Not that there weren’t exceptions. Elizabeth Burke had become Headmistress at Hogwarts, but she had been unable to have children, and her father must have been far more lenient than Bellatrix’s own. Josephina Flint had managed to become Minister of Magic for a time, but those were the only two women from The Families who had accomplished such lofty goals in all of history. Bellatrix couldn’t deny that her interest was piqued, that she might possibly be given an opportunity greater than that of being Madame Lestrange for the rest of her miserable days.

“Really?” Bellatrix breathed.

“Oh yes. That’s what it sounds like. I thought of you, dear. I gave Macnair your name. I talked of your prodigious talent in dark magic and made sure to mention your skills in dueling. I believe, whoever this strange man is, will be very excited to hear of you.” Her aunt smiled at her knowingly, and Bellatrix latched on to the possibility, that she wasn’t destined to spend her days keeping house at some large estate.

“What about you?” Bellatrix asked, knowing her aunt hated her lot in life nearly as much as she.

Aunt Walburga sighed, taking another long sip from the bottle. “I’m getting old dear. I doubt I’d be much use. Even my talents, exemplary though they are, are no match for you. You’re _special_ , Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix, later that evening, walked through the entrance to her home, heels clicking against the floor. She could see light coming from the parlor, and she poked her head in, grimacing when she saw it was her mother and not her father.

“Bellatrix! Why don’t you come in and sit with me?” her mother asked softly, moving aside to allow room on the richly upholstered couch. Bellatrix saw that her mother was looking at white robes, and she grimaced, shaking her head. “I wanted you to pick out a dress. The wedding is—”

“You pick it out. You seem to pick everything else out,” Bellatrix hissed. Her mother’s face fell, and Bellatrix felt a dash of vindictive pleasure.

“Bellatrix. You know that I have as little choice as you do,” her mother whispered, glancing anxiously at the door, her hands twisting in her lap. Bellatrix knew, logically, this was true. Father was to blame, but Bellatrix couldn’t lash out at her father, and her mother was right there, waiting and available.

“I don’t care. I hate you. I shall always hate you,” Bellatrix seethed, turning on her heel, storming from the room and to her bedroom, shutting the door so fiercely the house shook. She took out her wand, having a strong urge to set fire to something, to be the cause of something or someone’s destruction.

The anger, having long been a part of her, had ceased becoming a tamable thing, and how now reached flammable heights. Bellatrix’s world was ending, and if hers was, why shouldn’t everyone’s? Sanity was now a luxury she could rare afford, and she was filled with a wild urge to dismantle and devastate. There had to be something she could do, something she could do with her hands or her wand, something she could inflict directly. Her wand felt hot in her hand, magic wanting and ready to burst forth.

Bellatrix wanted desperately to cool down, but it almost seemed out of her control in this moment and she wondered how she might manage such a thing, especially when it would be so much easier to give in to the roaring tempest. Deep breaths.

She couldn’t do this. There was something seriously, seriously, _wrong_ with her.

Bellatrix apparated, and surprising herself on choosing the location. The Lestrange estate loomed in front of her, a massive structure, looking gothic and Cimmerian. She stepped walked the path, and through the wrought iron gate, which clanged open with a burst of her wand, leaving a deafening horrible creaking sound. She reached the door and pounded her fist into the heavy wood so hard that her knuckles bruised.

Rodolphus opened the door, not looking in the least bit surprised to see her.

“Bellatrix,” he greeted flatly.

“Teach me.” Bellatrix’s chest was heaving, and her mind was spinning in horrible circles, making her head pound. 

“I’m sorry?” he asked, coolly, as though he had not a care in the world.

“You said. Third-year. That you knew how to shut everything down. To feel nothing. Show me. Teach me.” Rodolphus raised a single brow, and stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

“Occlumency. I’m exceptional,” Rodolphus supplied, as he led her down the dark, gloomy hallway until she entered the drawing-room.

“Face me,” he said. She did. She felt something creep into her mind, tendrils of magic stroking the edges of her consciousness, probing. She screamed in anger. He was digging through her mind. He retreated immediately at the sound of her scream. She pointed her wand at him, furious. He did not react.

“You can not learn Occlumency if I do not access your mind Bellatrix. How can you defeat something you have never fought before?” He entered her mind again, picking at the fear she felt when near him, causing her to shout and try to stun him. He blocked her easily.

“Bellatrix,” he said, calmly. “What do you imagine my plans are for you?” She opened her mouth, ready to scream, ready to incite terror, so like the terror, she was feeling.

“I care not for your plans!” Bellatrix shouted, sending a curse flying toward an heirloom, watching it shatter to the ground. Rodolphus sat on an expensive leather couch, as though she wasn’t currently threatening to break his most expensive possessions.

“Sit,” he said, evenly. She could not _sit!_ She needed to run, needed to burst forth with violent energy.

“No!” she shouted, destroying a marble bust of some famous Lestrange, watching the white marble crack and fall away to dust.

“Listen to me. If you find me so unbearable after I’ve said my piece, I invite you to continue destroying my things.” Rodolphus waved his hand toward the chair opposite him, and she threw herself down into it, shaking. “There we are,” he said, almost pleasantly.

“Get on with it,” she hissed.

“Bellatrix, I asked you and I’ll ask you again. What do you imagine my plans are for you?” Rodolphus asked. Bellatrix shook her head, not wanting to answer. “Tell me, or I shall find out for myself.” She felt the beginnings of the magic scratch against her mind, threatening to enter. Not wanting him to go inside, the words vaulted from her, filling the space with a frantic, high voice that Bellatrix could not believe was her own.

“To make me plan your parties! To make me keep your estate! Bear your children! Warm your bed—” Bellatrix’s voice almost broke at the thought, feeling as though she might be sick. Never in her nineteen years had she been so miserable. She forced herself to continue. “Keep me locked away here until I cannot bear it until I—” she couldn’t continue. She did the one thing she swore she would never do. She _cried._ It was awful. Once she had started, she could not stop. For several minutes, she cried, her sobs wracking her body.

“Bellatrix,” Rodolphus said, without feeling. She bit her lip, quelling most of the sobs. How humiliating. How utterly debasing. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” She froze, sobs stolen from her by shock.

“Pardon?” she gasped.

“I will not lie, you may have to plan a party or two. It is expected. But, Bellatrix. The rest? I intend to leave you alone. You will do what you wish, so long as you do not bring shame to my name, and I will do the same. The children you bear can be bastards, for all I care. Make sure they are pure, make sure it is believable to be mine, and I care not for who the father is.”

Bellatrix leaned forward. “Impossible. You are lying! You are—”

“Nothing, Bellatrix. I am nothing. You do not like me because you fear me. Good. There is something wrong with me, Bellatrix. And, there is something wrong with you too. Believe me, Bellatrix. I feel nothing. I have always felt nothing. I feel nothing for you, but I do respect you. If I did not, perhaps I would tear you apart. But, I do. Have peace.”

Bellatrix was still and she felt the weight dissipate slightly, the horrid fear that had struck her vanish. “Go on,” she murmured. “What exactly is expected of me?”

“As I said, to others, you will appear a good, proper wife. Behind closed doors, I do not care to see much of you. I will have affairs as will you. Do not play in the mud and I care not who you spend your time with. I’m afraid you cannot do anything that would rock the boat, shall we say. Do not go anywhere or do anything that would tarnish our image. You may go anywhere appropriate for a lady of your status to go at your leisure, but nowhere else. This arrangement provides little freedom, but you make take all it offers.” He hesitated a long moment, before he said, “It is as good as an offer you will receive. From me or from anyone else.”

Bellatrix stood, slowly, not quite sure what to say. “That will suit me,” she said, finally, as if she had a choice. In reality, her situation had not much improved. She would still be forced to play the role as a lady of society, one she so desperately hated. She would not do anything worthwhile, meaningful; she would be heavily restricted in what she could do and where she would go. But, he would not touch her. He would leave her alone, barely speak to her, it seemed. The anger had burned bright and hot, but for a time, it lessened. She had only one choice to make, and that choice had only slightly improved. A prisoner thought Bellatrix. I will always be a prisoner.

“Do you _promise?”_ she asked, quietly. He looked at her, tilting his head as if examining a brightly colored insect, as if the concept of a promise was foreign to him.

“Yes. If that will please you.” She offered him something like a smile and he blinked at her, slowly.

She made for the door, stopping when he called, “And Bellatrix?” She turned around slowly. “I will not ask you to do much. But, when I do, do it.” The anger rose, horrid and heavy, like lightning bursting from a storm cloud. “Now, Bellatrix. Is it so different than your situation now? I think you will find I require much less of you than daddy dearest.” The anger stopped, startled by the shocking truth in his words. In a way, would it not be a relief? To answer to someone higher than her father? She wanted to answer to no one, but that was a dream out of reach. Better to answer to someone who asks far less.

With great effort, she turned and without another word, left him standing there, after giving him a stiff nod.


	37. Draco (September 1995): Help Me Out

September 1995

Draco walked from the Quidditch pitch, grinning slyly over his shoulder, as he watched the Gryffindor Quidditch team make their way off the field after a positively miserable practice. Pansy was giggling with Daphne, both girls going over their insults, discussing their various highlights and quips.

“God, Weasley may be the worst keeper I have ever seen. Malfoy, that was one of your better ideas. A few insults and their entire practice was derailed. Don’t know how they expect to compete if that is enough to rattle them,” Blaise said, clapping Draco on the back as he walked past him.

Theo caught up to him, matching his strides, walking directly beside him, instead of a little behind. That bothered Draco.

“You didn’t include Astoria,” Theodore asked.

“What?” Draco asked, distractedly.

“You didn’t tell Astoria about the Gryffindor’s practice.”

“Oh. I thought she wouldn’t want to come.”

“You didn’t ask if we wanted to come. You told us,” Theodore said, glancing over at him. Draco sighed.

Ever since Theodore and Draco started Hogwarts, there had been a battle of wills, a fight for control of Slytherin house. Draco had won, of course. Theo pretended to be alright with that, but Draco knew better. Theodore was constantly watching every move he made, constantly picking at him, looking for a weakness, waiting for an in. It could be exhausting.

“She lacks the disposition for this kind of project. Her skills were not required,” Draco said, evenly, quickening his pace.

“Why not ask if she wanted to come along? She can still jeer,” Theodore prodded, tone accusatory.

“Nott, I didn’t want her here. She is annoying. Drop it,” Draco snarled. In truth, he knew that sort of thing would have bothered Astoria and if she wanted to stay out of the more acerbic aspects of their social group, then he would leave her to it. She could study with them later tonight, and more fulfill her requirement of consociating with those of her blood status.

“Annoying, you say?” Theodore asked.

“You heard me, Nott. Are you so thick I must repeat myself twice with every comment I make?”

Theodore glowered and Draco pushed past him, leaving him walking far behind him.

He saw two Gryffindor students studying on the lawn. “Creevey, Vane. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“For what?” Creevey asked, face turning red.

“That’s for me to know,” Draco said, smirking as he pushed past the two. That should be enough to get Theodore off his back for a few minutes.

Or, it would have been.

“Draco? What’s going on?” Astoria asked, her bag in her hand. Draco realized, with great annoyance, that she had been coming to join Creevey and Vane.

“Little Greengrass. Mind your own,’ Draco ordered.

“Mind my own? But—”

“Come. You said you’d study with us,” Draco said, grabbing Astoria’s robes, tugging.

“Yeah. In two hours. I said I’d study with Romilda and Collin, so—”

“Come on,” Draco said, more firmly, dragging her with them. They got about halfway up the lawn before Astoria had dug her heels in, and Draco was sure her shoes were making marks in the mud.

He whirled around. “You all go on ahead,” he told the group, and Daphne gave him a pleading look before following Pansy, Theodore, and Blaise to the castle. “What are you two still doing here?” he asked Crabbe and Goyle, sharply. They turned, leaving almost sulkily.

He turned back to Astoria, who he was over a head taller than, and observed her coolly as she glared at him, her cheeks slightly flushed with anger and her dark hair blowing about her in the wind.

“I told you to stay out of who I’m friends with,” Astoria hissed. Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was like dealing with a splenetic child.

“Help me out,” he said, surprising himself. She frowned, also looking a little taken aback. Draco silently cursed himself.

“Help you out?”

“Yes. I cannot have you act like my opinion means nothing to you. Like you hold me in no esteem,” Draco said, tone cold, but inside, he could feel his heart pounding. He did not do this, barter, negotiate. What he said, went.

“Your opinion means a great deal to me, and of course I hold you in high esteem,” Astoria said, brightly, kindly. “Just not _this_ particular opinion.”

Draco shook his head. “Act like it, then. I cannot have—” He stopped, angry at himself for sounding so pathetic.

Astoria nodded, seeming to understand “Give me an hour,” she said, wrapping her arm around him for a quick side hug. Draco scoffed, shoving her off.

“I do not know what ridiculous customs you have brought back with you from that _hellish_ place, but I’m not to be _groped_ ,” he hissed. Astoria flushed, looking a little stung, but when he met her eyes, it was clear she was trying not to laugh.

“Okay, okay. When I get back, I will act as if I have been severely admonished,” Astoria assured him, giggling lightly.

Draco shook his head, frowning as she walked to Creevey and Vane, plopping down next to them in a most unladylike way, before digging through her bag and pulling her Ancient Runes textbook from it. She laughed at something Creevey said, before he leaned in, seemingly going over content with both Vane and Astoria.

Draco and his friends sat in their usual circle in the common room, doing homework, and whispering amongst themselves.

“So, Daphne. Your sister is still hanging around with the likes of Creevey, is she?” Theo asked, crossing his arms. Daphne stiffened.

“I suppose. I hardly think it the end of the world—” Daphne started, before Theodore cut her off.

“Really? I think you should correct her behavior. Since Draco will not.” Draco bristled at the challenge and swallowed.

“If Little Greengrass wants to play blood-traitor, I do not see how that is any of my business. I am sure, that when it counts, she will do what is necessary,” Draco said, an edge to his voice.

Theodore shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know. I mean, one of us could mention it in a letter to our parents, who would certainly think it _the end of the world_. She could be blacklisted. Blown right off her family tapestry.”

Daphne whirled on him. “And have you? Have you mentioned it?”

Theodore shook his head. “I didn’t. And, _I wouldn’t._ That doesn’t negate the fact that someone could. Bulstrode has enough motivation. The Carrow twins keep to themselves and their family is on the fringe of society anyway, but you never know when someone might try to get ahead by bringing down a more esteemed family. If you really care about her Daphne, you’ll stop her from consolidating with such people.”

Daphne looked panicked and Draco sighed. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. Draco stood and everyone in the common room turned to him, expectantly.

“I would hope,” he said, loudly. “That everyone understands that affairs involving any of _our_ families, would remain private. I’d hate to write to my father and mother about all of you.” Draco watched the Slytherins turn to each other and whisper nervously. “After all, if even one of you were to become a little tattle-tale, then perhaps I would share each and every person in this room's secrets with my family.” There. Now, the rest of the house would not only be watching themselves but also making sure their friends didn’t slip up, else it would be their hides too. Draco sat back down, and Daphne smiled at him as if he were a god. Draco smirked and picked up his quill.

A few minutes later, Astoria joined them, head hung, looking extremely apologetic, as she sat next to her sister.

“Guys,” she announced.

“Don’t say _, guys_. It’s common,” Daphne corrected.

Astoria rolled her eyes but stopped quickly as if remembering she was supposed to appear contrite. “Fellow Associates,” she said, Draco detecting the barest hint of sarcasm in her tone. “I’d like to apologize for my fraternization with the enemy. I will do my best to keep it subversive from now on,” Astoria said, giving each of them a grave look, and Draco, the barest hint of a smile.

Astoria sat down, opening her Potions textbook, and frowned. “Now, I’ve been told at least one of you is good at Potions,” she said, hopefully.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Are you not gifted?” he asked. Astoria stiffened.

“Not at Potions. I’m not gifted in every single—”

“Hm. Pass it here,” Draco said, reaching across the circle and taking her papers, as he cut her off. Astoria passed him her essay and he scanned it, raising an eyebrow. Theodore peered over his shoulder at the essay, but Draco shifted so it was shielded from his view. Astoria smiled at him gratefully and he shook his head.

The next day, at breakfast, Pansy passed him a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Your father’s been quoted directly,” said Pansy smiling. Draco took the paper, scanning it as he took a sip of pumpkin juice.

“Hogwarts High Inquisitor?” he murmured to himself.

“What do you think?” Blaise asked him, and Draco noticed that everyone was watching closely for his reaction to the article.

“Well, I think it’s clear what we do,” Draco said. “We work with her, so she doesn’t work against us.”

Pansy smirked at him, grabbing a small helping of fruit, tossing a wistful look toward a muffin. Draco rolled his eyes, grabbing a muffin and putting it on her plate, and tossed one to Daphne.

“Your mothers aren’t here, girls. No need to deprive yourselves,” he said. Daphne glanced at her sister, who ate breakfast with her friends. Draco followed her gaze to Astoria, who was putting a sizeable serving of bacon on her plate. Astoria was certainly slender, but she ate more than any girl Draco associated with.

Tracey followed his gaze and smirked. “Yes, Daphne. I bet we are glad Mrs. Greengrass can’t see her daughter's eating habits.” It was a comment said in truth, but without malice.

“Actually, Astoria has a very fast metabolism because—” Daphne broke off suddenly. She took a breath and resumed. “Astoria has an overactive metabolism. She needs to eat a lot. Healer’s orders. Besides, she eats no more than Ginny Weasley does,” Daphne said, throwing a look over her shoulder, in a transparent attempt to shift the focus from her sister. Draco rolled his eyes. _A lot_. Astoria ate less than he did.

Astoria waved to Vane as she entered the Great Hall, earning an enthusiastic wave in return. Theodore glanced at him.

“Looks like your talk didn’t do much good,” Theodore said. Draco tensed.

“I didn’t tell her to stop seeing them. I told her to make it less obvious,” Draco argued.

“Oh? Well, that wasn’t obvious, was it.”

Daphne turned to Theodore, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a winning smile. “Theo, surely you aren’t suggesting Draco bully my sister into submission, are you? She is a little odd to be sure, but I hardly think it is of any consequence,” she said, in a honeyed tone. Theodore blushed a dark red as Blaise stabbed a bite of scrambled egg aggressively, glowering at the two.

“No! No, I wasn’t. I like your sister, Daph. You know that,” Theodore said, gruffly.

Pansy wasn’t saying much, as she was reading a letter from home, frowning slightly. Draco nudged her with his leg from across the table. “Problem?” he asked, quietly.

Pansy looked at him and sighed. “Oh, you know. Mother is writing. I think she is angry with me, but I do not know why,” Pansy said, folding the letter and stowing it deep within her bag. “You know how she is.” Draco gave her a knowing smile. That’s how their world worked. Fathers bullied their sons, Mothers bullied their daughters, and everyone was miserable. Of course, his father didn’t _bully_ him. His father _was_ proud of him. He was hard on him _because he cared_ about him. Draco was sure of this, despite the nasty voice that whispered in the back of his mind, telling him his father was just like all the others, if not worse.

Daphne asked, “Are you all excited about the next Hogsmeade trip?”

Blaise nodded. “Yes, I am. Though, it has lost its luster, if I’m honest. I mean, we’ve been there so many times.”

“Is your sister coming with us?” asked Draco.

Daphne groaned. “She is going to meet up with us later. Apparently, she told Luna Lovegood that she would go with her.”

Draco made a face. “Seriously?”

“Yes. If you haven’t learned this about Astoria, then I suppose I must warn you. She views herself personally responsible for all the social outcasts in the world and all the forsaken,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “So, I’d stop ragging on Potter so much around her. She’ll start thinking he is lonely and want to befriend him.”

Pansy gagged playfully. “Daphne, give your sister some credit. I’m sure she has at least a modicum of taste.”

Draco stood, and when he did, so did everyone else. “Class,” he announced.

Later, he sat in Potions class, which Professor Umbridge would be observing today, listening to Professor Snape criticize the Moonstone essays, smirking when he saw the large O on his essay.

“I bet Potter got a D,” he whispered to Pansy, who smirked and shifted closer to him slightly. She really was quite pretty.

He started on his Strengthening Solution, concentrating hard, while occasionally glancing at Professor Umbridge, who was taking notes furiously in the corner.

“It’s funny,” Pansy whispered to Draco.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“Astoria,” she hissed.

Draco groaned. “You’re the one who convinced me that we liked her. Do not tell me you are changing your mind.”

“You liked her all on your own and you know it. And, I’m not changing my mind. I just think it would be easier to help her if Daphne would be honest with us,” Pansy said, copying every move Draco made on his potion. Crabbe dumped too much salamander blood in his potion and Draco cursed, turning around to help him fix it by adding more powdered griffin claw.

“Honest? What do you mean?” Draco asked, turning back to his own Potion, as he watched it turn a pleasant turquoise color.

“Draco, there are holes in her story. You know that,” Pansy said. “And, I don’t want to call any attention to them, because I want her to do well here. But, people are starting to notice that she acts differently.”

“So, she’s an odd little thing. I don’t see what that—”

“Draco, be serious. You know where odd will get you in our society. The Families all saw her mistake at Platform 9 and 3/4s. The ones who did not certainly have heard it through the rumor mill.”

“There is nothing I can do about it. If she hadn’t earned my father’s ire, perhaps I could have helped her. But, she has, and I cannot appeal to him to garner her a more acceptable image,” Draco argued.

“Your mother might help her,” Pansy said. Draco shook his head.

“My mother does nothing my father doesn’t whole-heartedly agree with.”

Professor Umbridge came to their workstation, looking at their cauldrons with a critical gaze. Draco fought not to roll his eyes. As if she could brew a Strengthening Solution this good.

“Remind me of your name, dear?” Professor Umbridge said, turning to Pansy. Pansy’s jaw dropped and there were several hushed gasps near them. Draco wanted to laugh. Who didn’t know the Parkinsons?

“Pansy Parkinson,” Pansy replied, fighting to keep her tone even.

“Yes, and do you feel this class is appropriate for your age level?” Pansy looked at Draco, before glancing down at her cauldron. Draco knew it would be a tough call. They wanted Umbridge on their side, and bashing a professor would certainly get them there. But, that meant betraying Professor Snape, and Draco knew Pansy wouldn’t be keen on that idea.

“I can only say, that my potions grades have always been model. Draco’s are exemplary. Best in our year, at Potions. So, we are handling the content with ease,” Pansy said, without a trace of the nervousness she must have been feeling.

“Oh? And, do you like Professor Snape?” Umbridge asked.

“Yes. I do,” Pansy said, shortly.

Professor Umbridge frowned slightly and moved on. Pansy looked at Draco, silently asking him whether she had handled the situation correctly. Draco nodded at her and shot Umbridge an annoyed look. He would play her game if that meant he didn’t face her scrutiny and overbearing presence.

Draco headed to Arithmancy, alongside Blaise, who was waving goodbye over his shoulder at Daphne. Draco rolled his eyes as he saw Granger push forward, regrettably starting toward the same class. Blaise saw her and groaned.

“No. I keep forgetting that we have this class with her. It’s unbearable, really.”

“Professor Vector hates her, actually. She would never show it, of course, but I can tell. No one likes a know-it-all. She opened her mouth last class to answer a simple question, and practically taught the whole lesson, she talked so long,” Draco complained. Blaise nodded.

Draco nodded politely at Professor Vector as he made his way to his usual seat near the back of the classroom. Granger was perched at the front, gazing at the board in earnest. Draco rolled his eyes, sinking down in his seat.

Professor Vector began the lecture and Draco listened intently, taking thorough notes. This class was usually one of his favorites, so long as he blocked out Granger’s dancing hand in the air.

As Blaise and Draco met with the others for Care of Magical Creatures, Daphne sighed and laughed lightly. “It is so nice to be able to go to this class not positively dreading it. I mean, we all remember the frightful Blasted-Ended Skrewts,” Daphne said.

Draco groaned as he remembered the awful beasts. “Beasts like beasts. What can one say?” Draco remarked, pushing forward to the grounds.

When they arrived at the grounds, Draco was relieved to find they were still working with bowtruckles and he pretended to be annoyed when the creature climbed up the sleeve of his robes to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s a shame Umbridge can’t see Hagrid’s teaching style,” Pansy said, wrinkling her nose at the woodlice, as she gave some to her bowtruckle. “He would soon be a distant memory.”

Draco saw Umbridge approach Grubbly-Plank and he heard her ask if she knew of Hagrid’s whereabouts. Draco leaned in, listening intently. Perhaps Grubbly-Plank knew what his father wouldn’t tell him about Hagrid. However, it seemed Grubbly-Plank either knew nothing or didn’t want to reveal what she did know to Umbridge.

“I for one, hope that wherever he is, he isn’t coming back,” Daphne said, nodding toward Umbridge’s and Grubbly-Plank’s conversation. “Do you know where he is, Draco?”

Draco’s stomach twisted as he thought about revealing that his father didn’t trust him to hold such information. “I do not. Wherever he is, it can’t be of any consequence. Perhaps he’s gone to join his kind,” Draco said, referencing the only thing he had heard on the matter. Hagrid was with giants, though Draco did not know why or what he was doing.

Professor Umbridge flounced toward Goyle and Draco caught an overwhelming scent, redolent of a synthetic flower-garden that made him fight to hold back a gag. Umbridge was asking Goyle about injuries in the class, and Draco was sure to tell her about the Hippogriff incident, in case the giants weren’t enough to deter Hagrid from coming back.

When Potter rushed to Hagrid’s defense, Draco laughed as he got a swift detention.

“See? This is what I mean. Detestable though she is, she certainly has her uses,” Draco said to his friends as Potter sulked about his new detention.


	38. Andromeda (1969): Let her burn

September 1969

As usual, her summer had been miserable. Andromeda had spent the summer dodging furious, demeaning comments from her father, Bellatrix’s increasing wrath, and Narcissa’s increasing anxiety, by locking herself in her room.

Her father had been especially cruel this past summer. He seemed to have it out for Andromeda, more so than usual, and she could not figure the cause of his increased animosity towards her. She could only hide, cold and frozen in her room, numb to his comments, numb to the world around her, watching Bellatrix play out the horrors she too would soon face. She had encased herself in ice, hoping that if she let no one through, everything would stop hurting; she relished the chill of simply feeling nothing.

Now, Andromeda stood next to Bellatrix on the platform. “How long?”

“A year and a half.” Bellatrix would not look at her and was watching Narcissa fluff her hair. It was a beautiful, sleek, golden color, and Andromeda was quite glad her sister had better luck with her hair than she did.

“And what of you until then?”

“I shall stay at home. I am allowed out of the house, but I can’t think there are many places I desire to go.”

“Bella, there must be a way. If you would let me help you, I could—”

“No. Leave. You shall miss the train.” Andromeda sighed and left her sister standing on the platform, desperately trying not to look at the Lestranges who were bidding Rabastan goodbye. Narcissa followed her as she made her way toward the train, tailing her with a sense of urgency.

“Who do think you will marry?” Narcissa asked curiously.

“I’m sixteen, Narcissa. I shan’t be married until I am nineteen or twenty. Now, why don’t you run along and find your friends.” Andromeda didn’t want to talk about this. All summer Narcissa had been trying to corner her with the same question. _Andromeda did not want to talk about it._

“But you will know who soon enough. Do you have anyone you want—”

“Narcissa! Find your friends. This seems to be a topic discussed with Thalassa Parkinson rather than myself.” Andromeda had a brief image, of bright blue eyes and a kind smile, but she quickly banished it from her mind. Narcissa sighed.

“Andromeda, you may think I’m silly or immature for worrying about such things, but have you no understanding that it is to be the _rest of our lives_? It will determine nearly two-thirds of our existence and you mean to tell me it warrants _no_ discussion?” Narcissa swallowed hard and tried to blink back tears. “I assure you, you may think me a frivolous little girl, but I think you foolish for thinking that the same thing that has happened to Bellatrix might not happen to us. I say you start looking. If you can convince someone to approach Father, you may yet have some control.” Narcissa flounced away, her nose in the air, while Andromeda’s stomach sank lower and lower.

She walked to the back of the train, slipping in the compartment, sitting next to Molly and Arthur. “Andromeda! Thank goodness. We were worried you were going to miss the train,” Molly said, scooting down to make room. Andromeda sat beside her, staring at the window.

Someone else entered her compartment, and when she saw who it was, she quickly looked out the window again.

“Ted! I was wondering when you were going to find us!” Arthur said, moving over so he could take the seat across from Andromeda. She wanted to curse Arthur who had no doubt invited Ted to sit with them.

“Hello, Andromeda,” Ted greeted, cheerfully.

Andromeda gave him a shy smile, nodding her head, before turning to look out the window once again.

“How did everyone do on their O.W.L.S?” Molly asked. No one answered. “Andromeda?”

Andromeda sighed. “I did well enough.”

“And what does that mean?” Molly asked, leaning over.

“I got an O in everything, except for Defense. I only got an Acceptable. Father was furious.” Molly shook her head.

“Andromeda, you don’t listen to him. That is a fantastic achievement. Ted?”

“Really good, actually. I got an O in charms, thanks to Andromeda.” Andromeda smiled, and she tried to not be slightly disappointed that there was no reason for them to continue to study together.

“Isn’t it awful that Rabastan Lestrange is still a prefect? I thought after last year they would have removed him. Who even decides that?”

“Slughorn. You know how he is. He is rather dense when it comes to his students. He hardly pays attention and I doubt he knows what Lestrange gets up to,” Andromeda said, watching the landscape flash by. 

The rest of the train ride, Andromeda tried to avoid looking at Ted, who she could feel was watching her. She began to examine a strand of hair, and when the train came to a stop, she stood and began to reach for her trunk.

“Here! Let me get that for you,” Ted said, reaching up to grab her trunk. He was only slightly taller than her, and Andromeda certainly could have reached it well enough on her own. Arthur and Molly had already left, and Andromeda watched them go apprehensively. Ted handed her the trunk and reached up to get his own.

“Andromeda, listen, I wanted to ask you something.” Ted was between her and the door, and though she glances nervously out the window, she nodded. “I got an O. In Defense. It’s actually my best class, and I wondered if you needed any help with it. Thought I could repay you for last year.”

Andromeda’s heart skipped a beat, though she managed to keep her face impassive. “Your help would be appreciated.”

“Excellent! So, I guess same time, same place?” Andromeda gave him a single nod.

“Thank you,” she whispered, quietly. He only gave her a grin and laughed.

“What are friends for?” He held the compartment door open, and Andromeda noticed that he didn’t follow her out. Rather, he waited until she was almost to the end of the train before stepping out, checking around fist to make sure no one had seen. Andromeda smiled at his efforts.

* * *

In two weeks' time, Andromeda found herself standing across from Ted, his wand raised. “So, shield charms can be really tricky. The incantation is _Protego_ , and the key is to almost thrust outward with your wand. As if you are repelling something because, in some ways, you are.” Andromeda raised her wand. “Sometimes, it can be difficult to summon the energy to cast the curse if there is no real threat, so I’m going to try to disarm you, and you can try to block it.”

Andromeda took a deep breath, holding her wand straight in front of her.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

“ _Protego_!”

Her wand clattered to the ground, the wisps of light the only indication that she had cast a spell at all.

“Good. There was light that time. Good start. Better than it has been in class,” Ted said, picking up her wand and handing it back to her.

“It’s getting late,” Andromeda murmured, nervously looking at Ted’s wristwatch.

“Oh, yes! I will walk you back to your common room,” Ted said, before beginning to messily stuff his books into his bag.

“You’ll mess up your books and papers,” Andromeda said, sighing. She flicked her wand, and all the books and papers arranged themselves neatly in the bag.

“Thanks! That’s a brilliant charm. You’ll have to teach me, you know.”

“It’s fairly tricky,” Andromeda admitted.

“Oh, so you don’t think I can do it?”

“No! That’s not what I—”

Andromeda stopped when it became clear Ted was only teasing. “Andromeda, I believe you may be one of the most uptight people I have ever met.” Uptight? She didn’t want him to think her uptight. But, she could think of nothing to refute his statement, so she merely looked at her shoes.

“I’m sorry. It’s not a bad thing. I quite like that you're uptight.” He took a few steps forward until he was standing far closer than he ever had before. Andromeda didn’t quite know what to say, and as she met his eyes, she realized that her heart was thumping impossibly loud in her chest, and she wondered whether the whole castle might hear it. “I quite like you, Andromeda.” Andromeda made a startled noise in the back of her throat that caused him to laugh.

“Ted,” she choked out, his name all she could manage. He grinned at her.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Andromeda immediately turned and left the classroom. Ted followed behind her at a distance and watched her enter the common room. Once inside, she couldn’t help but smile, despite all the portraits giving her disapproving looks.

Andromeda heard a cough, and she looked toward the center of the room, finding Lucius Malfoy glaring at her. “It is past curfew, Black.”

“And? Go bother someone else,” Andromeda said, pushing past him.

“I am a prefect, Black. I’ll have to dock points next time. Just where were you? Out so late?” Andromeda froze and turned to face him.

“I do not believe it is any of your business. Dock your points. I think you’ll find just how little I care.” He scoffed and shook his head.

“Black, The Families are talking. They are taking notice of your habits. Some, are labeling you a—”

“I care not what they label me. Mind your own, Malfoy. Rumors are going around about your own father. People are not sure just how voluntary Leach’s resignation was. I think pointing fingers, would be unwise.”

Lucius Malfoy smirked at her. “Oh? But see, if the rumors about my father are true The Families will hail him a hero, and if the rumors about you, that you are straying from The Cause, being led astray by your blood-traitor friends, you will be cast out.” Andromeda said nothing and continued to make for the stairs, wanting desperately to reach her bed. “Ten points, Black. Watch yourself.”

* * *

Ted stood just behind her, unbearably close, his hand on her arm, guiding her wand through the movements.

“There we are, just like that. Try again.” Ted took a step back, leaving her to attempt another shield charm.

“ _Protego_!” Andromeda shouted, sighing in relief as the blue light formed a passable shield.

“Excellent! And on the first try!” Ted grinned at her, before throwing an arm around her and hugging her to his side, before quickly letting go. Andromeda smiled back at him, her heart racing. She must have had a strange look on her face, because Ted tilted his head to the side, considering her.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he asked, taking a step forward, while Andromeda thought about taking a step back, but she felt the wood of the desk press into her back.

“No. At least, I don’t think you’re dangerous. I’m not afraid you’ll harm me,” she said, her voice raising an octave, becoming breathless.

“But you’re still afraid?” Andromeda didn’t know how to answer his question. Her heart beat incredibly fast every time he was near or looked in her direction, and it became hard to breathe. When it was time for her to meet him in their abandoned classroom, her stomach was in knots for the duration of the day in anticipation, and it only became worse once she actually saw him. It wasn’t a bad emotional response, nor was it unpleasant. But, it wasn’t without fear.

“Not of you. I’m afraid of…” Andromeda started, trailing off, not sure how to speak into words what she felt fluttering in her chest. Ted stood, patient, waiting for her to finish, and Andromeda stood up straight, taking a breath. “I’m afraid of how I feel about you.”

Ted’s eyes lit up, but he held back a smile, and said, “And how do you feel about me?” Andromeda didn’t know what to say, or what to do. She swore she could feel the old scar on the palm of her hand throb dangerously, but she pressed her fingers into the long-sealed fissure as if to quiet it.

“I do not know. I can only tell you that—” Andromeda stopped, and nervously bit her lip. “I can only tell you that I want to be around you, but it’s different than the way I would want to be around my other friends. I am unaware of what that might mean, and I suppose. I suppose it’s similar to being afraid, in that my heart races and everything feels heightened. But, the difference is, is that I like feeling this way,” Andromeda finished, wondering that she had lost her usual eloquence. Ted had an almost triumphant grin spreading across his face, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Andromeda, that means you like me.”

“Of course I like you, Ted. You are my friend. I only mean that…” she trailed off. Ted was watching her puzzle through it, an amused expression on his face.

“No, Andromeda. You like me as more than a friend.”

“Yes, is that what you call it?” Andromeda asked, breathlessly. He laughed and came so close, impossibly close. Her heart stuttered and she swallowed back a noise.

“Could I kiss you?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. Andromeda definitely felt afraid now, but it was a different sort of high, one that she found she was chasing. She didn’t feel she could answer, but she nodded mutely, and a small smile spread across his face as he leaned in. Andromeda closed her eyes, and felt his lips brush against her, softly at first, and then deepening as she responded, her lips moving against his, naturally, as if she had always been born for treachery.

It started then, the heat. Ted Tonks was burning her. Andromeda was burning with a fire; it felt as though flames were licking her skin, though not in the way she had ever feared or expected. If this is what it was to burn, she would gladly let herself crumble to ash. Ted’s hand brushed down the side of her arm, his fingertips scorching her very skin. It was delicious incalescence that seemed to penetrate through the ice of her name, her family, and everything she should have been thinking of at that moment. She found she liked kissing Ted Tonks, and she found she didn’t want to stop.

And, as if suddenly waking from a wonderful dream, Andromeda gasped and pulled back, opening her eyes, the scar on her hand throbbing, a reminder of what she had done. Her heart raced and she felt feverish. She took a startled step back, her hand flying to cover her tingling lips. Ted, who at first, had smiled when they broke apart, now looked concerned.

“Andromeda? Are you alright?” His hand rested on her shoulder and she found that she was feeling dizzy in the most pleasant way possible.

“Yes. Would you resume?” Andromeda asked, voice breathless. Ted gave her a broad smile, laughing at her a little, and Andromeda wondered what was so funny. Before she had time to derive the reason for his mirth, his lips were on hers again, and that left little room for thinking of anything else.

That night, as Andromeda stepped down the stairs that led to the common room, she threw one last shy smile over her shoulder at Ted, before murmuring the password, “Krait.” She stepped inside, her cheeks feeling warm, and her stomach doing flips. Her good mood was immediately ruined, when she saw Narcissa come up to her, her arms crossed.

“It is but a minute to curfew,” she complained. Andromeda snorted.

“I find I like the danger of cutting it close,” Andromeda said, teasingly. “Since when have you become so interested in upholding school rules?” Narcissa blushed and turned up her nose.

“I do not know what you mean. I have always been interested in staying out of trouble,” Narcissa said. Andromeda suspected it had to do with who was the new prefect, but she said nothing.

A silence settled between the two of them, as Andromeda felt a frosty sense of guilt settle into her stomach, as the scar on her hand throbbed painfully. Andromeda knew she was imagining the phantom pains, but that made the scar no less smarting.

“Andromeda, what is wrong? You’ve gone white as a sheet!” Narcissa spoke, sounding alarmed. Andromeda shook her head, vigorously, perhaps a little too fast.

“No! I am well. I am quite tired, and I think I require rest. I will see you in the morning.” Narcissa frowned but stepped aside. It was rather late, and Andromeda wondered why Narcissa was not in bed.

“Narcissa? Are you not coming to bed?” Narcissa look startled.

“Oh, yes! Yes, I am.”

She followed Andromeda, going into her room, and Andromeda to hers, wondering just who else Narcissa had been waiting up for.

As she lay in bed that night, holding her hand to her chest, she found the pain in her hand could not stop her from smiling.


	39. Narcissa (1969): Promises

October 1969

Narcissa was in the library, studying with her friends. At least, she was studying. Her friends were gossiping.

“No, no. I told you. Corban Yaxley has been looking at Narcissa all afternoon!”

“All the boys look at Narcissa! That’s hardly new,” Thalassa Parkinson said, sourly. “Narcissa, hurry and pick one so the rest of us can find a date to Hogsmeade. I mean, they won’t bother with us until they think they don’t have a chance.”

“That is not true,” Narcissa said distractedly, solving an Arithmancy problem. She really did enjoy Arithmancy.

“It is true and you know it.”

“Is it?” Narcissa asked, knowing very well it was true. She enjoyed the way they all stared at her, watched her with an avid fascination. She had overheard her Aunt Decima say she was the prettiest girl born into the families in a hundred years! Can you imagine?

Nysa smiled and laughed. “You know very well it is true. You have your pick.” Narcissa laughed lightly.

“Well, I am not taking a date to Hogsmeade. I’d rather spend the day with all of you. So, I’m afraid you will have to wait.”

Aspasia contributed nothing to the conversation. She only drew small flowers on her parchment, not even bothering to glance at her incomplete Transfiguration essay. “Aspasia, are you all right?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes. Tired, is all. I feel unwell.” Narcissa frowned.

“Oh, how dreadful. Something is going around all of Slytherin House. Your sister Euphemia was sick, was she not?” asked Narcissa, turning to Thalassa.

“Oh, yes. Euphemia. God, I cannot stand Euphemia. She was driving me up a wall yesterday. Older sisters are simply dreadful, are they not?” Thalassa asked Narcissa.

Narcissa sighed. “Oh, I do not think so. I love my older sisters.”

“Even your blood traitor one?” Thalassa asked snidely.

Narcissa stood, angrily, slamming her book closed. “Hold your tongue, Travers. She is no such thing!” There was a tense, heavy silence and Narcissa found her heart was stopping.

“She isn’t?” Thalassa asked.

“No! The Weasleys and the Prewetts are in The Sacred Twenty-Eight. I’ve never seen her so much as look at a muggle-born! I’ll admit, she has a rebellious streak, but that is all! She isn’t…she wouldn’t! Have I made myself clear?” Narcissa was crying and she brushed the tears away hurriedly, before stalking away, not bothering to wait for an answer.

Narcissa made her way to the Slytherin Dungeons, tears feeling hot against her face. Oh, how awful! Her face would surely be red and puffy. This was misery in its finest. She would just have to talk to Andromeda. Andromeda had friends in Slytherin. Sure, they were half-bloods, but there were worse choices. Andromeda could make better friends. New ones. She could sit alone if she so chose. Did Andromeda not understand that no one would have her if she continued to make herself a blood-traitor? Ugh, how could she do this!

She entered the common room without looking and ran straight into someone. “Pardon. My deepest apologies,” she mumbled, before side-stepping them.

“Narcissa? Are you alright?” she froze, face turning red. Lucius Malfoy. Circe, strike her down where she stood. She turned slowly.

“Yes! I am quite alright! I thank you for your concern,” Narcissa said, dipping her head.

“Are you not crying?”

“I read a sad passage in a book,” Narcissa offered, lamely.

“Oh? What book could send you into hysterics?”

“I am not hysterical!” she hissed, not helping her case. “I am only crying slightly.”

“What book?” he repeated, smirking. Oh, what an awful humiliation.

“Oh! Nothing you would find of interest. Really, I must get to my dorm. I left something in there,” she said, taking a step back. He nodded and turned away, heading for his usual group of friends, who had been watching their conversation like rabid dogs! Disgusting.

She stormed to Andromeda’s dorm and entered. “Andromeda?”

Mary was the only one in there and Andromeda was talking to her, shaking what looked like a shiny new book, written by Dumbledore! Andromeda saw Narcissa and threw the book across the room and it landed with a thunk behind a bed. Mary laughed loudly.

“Busted,” she said, standing and stretching. “Darcy and I are going to watch the Slytherin Quidditch Practice. Come along. After you’ve been chewed out, of course.” Mary giggled again, giving Narcissa a condescending look before brushing past her.

“Andromeda! What is that awful book you are reading? Are you wanting to be cast out? You’ve been led astray!”

Andromeda only laughed before throwing herself across her bed. “Narcissa, Narcissa! How can you be so upset? There is nothing that warrants such worry. Will you not lighten your heart? You carry all the woes of the Blacks within you!”

Narcissa glared daggers at her sister. “I have never seen you so happy! What has happened? What have you done? If you are this happy, I dread it.”

Andromeda grinned wickedly. “Dear sister, you wish me unhappy?”

“No! I wish you to be happy for the right reasons! I have long discovered that you are only ever happy for the wrong ones!”

“Worry not! Have you been crying? Sit with me,” Andromeda exclaimed, her pretty voice filling the room with warmth. Andromeda had a mellow sounding voice. Narcissa had always wondered if she would be a good singer. Narcissa relented her anger and sat next to Andromeda, Anger never got far with her sister anyhow. 

“Everyone says that you are a blood traitor,” Narcissa whispered. “Tell me it is not true,” she begged. Andromeda stiffened and Narcissa watched the warmth fade from her, the familiar mask of blank, complacent misery settling over her features. It broke Narcissa’s heart to see her sister so miserable. It would break her heart even more if she couldn’t see her at all.

“I—” Andromeda started, cutting herself off. “I am not. I just. I do not know. Don’t trouble yourself Narcissa.”

“Do not trouble myself? You are my sister, Andromeda. My dearest friend in all the world and you do not want me to trouble myself?”

“You are my dearest friend too. I promise. You won’t lose me.”

“Do you promise it? Do you swear it?”

“I do! Narcissa, in the end, I will always choose you. These are my last years of freedom. I will do as I wish, but I promise you. I will not forsake you.”

Narcissa threw her arms around her sister. That was all right she supposed. As long as in the end, Andromeda was safe, and Andromeda was with her. The world could end but if Andromeda was with her, Narcissa knew that everything would be alright.

Narcissa, however, was sure her sister was up to something. And, if it was up to her to stop it, then she would. She would have to. 


End file.
